


Off the Rails

by The_Asset6



Series: Deleted Scenes and Broken Dreams [9]
Category: Fabula Nova Crystallis: Final Fantasy, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Delusions, Emotional Hurt, Final Fantasy XV Spoilers, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt No Comfort, Kidnapping, Late game spoilers, Self-Esteem Issues, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:03:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Asset6/pseuds/The_Asset6
Summary: The plan had been simple: get on the train, make a quick stop in Tenebrae, and then go kick some ass in Gralea. Clear, direct, to the point. Unfortunately, nothing can ever be easy on this damned road trip from hell.





	1. A Different Kind of Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! I am both sad and excited to present to you guys part nine of this ten-part series. This won't be a happy story, but I'm sure you could tell that from a combination of the summary, tags, and the rather anvil-sized hints I dropped in the last chapter. ;) I hope you enjoy it!

There was no denying it: the empire was utter _shit_.

Gladio huffed derisively at the passing landscape, glaring out over Niflheim’s territory with as much animosity as he could muster. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea, not when he was on a train full of people who at least lived under the empire’s thumb even if they didn’t like it, but he’d ceased to care at this point. If they couldn’t take an opposing view, then they could just leave him the hell alone.

Honestly, who’d want to be out in this wasteland anyway? There were parts of Lucis that weren’t so great either, don’t get him wrong, but seriously—this place was a dump. Where the unsettled ground wasn’t covered in parched grass, enormous rocks dug their way out of the earth like some kind of tumor; the only signs of civilization were basically mines and factories in the distance. You could make the argument that the snowcapped mountains bordering the horizon were nice enough, but Gladio wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking that that was due to any effort on Niflheim’s part. The nature that wasn’t completely obliterated out here to make way for industry was just lucky it hadn’t been mowed down yet. It was only a matter of time, though, and always had been.

 _Unless we can stop ‘em before they get the chance_ , Gladio thought darkly, folding his arms tighter over his chest.

He and Noct may have set aside their differences after Ignis verbally flayed them up one side and down the other, but Gladio still had a few reservations about his charge. The latter was _capable_ of being king and had been since he was a kid, even if Gladio was pretty skeptical of the idea in those days. Looking back, he had to admit that he’d gone harder on Noct than he probably should have. What was he supposed to expect out of a little kid, anyway? It was shocking enough when he stood up for Iris and took the blame for their little escapade even if it meant invoking the wrath of his father. The person Gladio had been back then never would have seen it coming; he still remembered scoffing when Iris tried to tell him the truth, only her anguished tears finally convincing him that the seemingly spoiled prince had thought of anyone other than himself for a change. Maybe he’d been unreasonable back then, appreciated a few of Noct’s achievements too little and highlighted a few too many of his failures instead.

Now, though, he wasn’t sure what the hell to think. Capable as he was, it just didn’t seem like Noctis was holding his own in the _heir to the throne_ department. Gladio knew it was tough, but _he’d_ overcome it—maybe that was what really riled him up about his charge.

King Regis wasn’t the only one who’d died. If he was gone, that meant Gladio’s father had already stopped breathing. He’d wanted to grieve just like Noct, but they _couldn’t_. There was too much to be done, too many people counting on them to sit around and wallow in self-pity as if that would bring their loved ones back. They had to focus on what they still had instead of what they’d lost. For Gladio, that meant a few more texts to Iris than usual. Noct had the three of them; it should have been enough for him to pull his head out of his ass sooner and get with the program, but he hadn’t.

While Gladio had been off seeking more power from the Blademaster so that he could do his job better, what had Noct been up to? Finding a _rock_. Yeah, they’d needed that rock to get King Regis’s boat going, but Gladio had expected to come back and find that his charge was ready to get to Altissia.

What he’d gotten instead was a whiny little brat, as always.

It only got worse after the whole Leviathan debacle. Weeks had passed, and Noct was still a mess. Lady Lunafreya had died, yeah. It was _sad_ , and it made sense that Noct would feel bad since they’d been friends for so long. But kings didn’t have time to mourn, especially not kings who had to take down an evil empire almost singlehandedly. There just wasn’t time for that shit, so Gladio thought he was doing Noct a favor by trying to get him out of the rut where he’d been spinning his wheels for way too long. Everything he did backfired, though: whenever he tried to say something to get Noct motivated, either the prince wouldn’t seem to hear him or his own anger at the situation would mess it all up and make his words come out harsher than he’d meant. By the time that happened, his charge was just as fired up, and it did neither of them any good to continue the conversation. It would just turn into an argument nobody involved was going to win.

But…Ignis had been right about one thing, and Gladio should have realized it going into this journey. Like it or not, Noct was that special kind of stubborn—the more you pushed before he was ready, the more he dug his heels in. For all the added effort he put in after Gladio exploded on him yesterday, there was just as much anger and frustration there as ever. It had colored all their interactions while they were hunting down the last royal arm in Fodina Caestino, and he actually did feel a little bad that it had put them at such severe odds that Prompto and Ignis got caught in the middle.

But what was he supposed to do? Sit around and let the new king be an idiot? No. His father wouldn’t have let King Regis drown in his grief, so neither would he. Come hell or high water, Noct _would_ become the monarch he needed to be, and Gladio would be there to protect him every step of the way.

It was with that thought in mind that he had agreed to go on Ignis’s wild chocobo chase. A king needed a realm to rule, and unfortunately it looked like things were going downhill pretty much _everywhere_ in that regard.

Longer nights and shorter days. That was the rumor Ignis had remarked on earlier when Noct and Prompto were still sleeping. It had apparently popped up while both Shield and prince had been, as he’d put it, _doing your best imitation of a pack of voretooths._ Gladio had tried not to take offense to that, but he couldn’t deny that it rankled enough for him to almost tell Ignis to go on this little fact-finding mission on his own. Of course, he’d stopped himself before his temper got the better of him—Ignis was blind and, as far as Gladio was concerned, damn near helpless in a crowd. The last thing they needed was for him to be wandering around the train alone, regardless of how well he’d stood up to that malboro down in the mines. Gladio may have been outvoted on taking Ignis with them, but his concerns still remained: they couldn’t just let him go off by himself, especially as they drew closer to the middle of enemy territory.

So, that left Gladio to do the job for him. And he was getting pretty damn tired of waiting.

All Ignis knew was what the person sounded like. That much was to be expected, but Gladio hadn’t realized just how hard it was going to be to find someone purely based on the sound of their voice. It wasn’t exactly something that you could easily describe to another person, not like an appearance would be. _Deep with a bit of a rasp_ , was all Ignis could tell him. Oh, and that apparently the guy had a pretty awkward stutter. So, that narrowed his search down to approximately…half the train. _If_ whoever it was hadn’t gotten off in Cartanica and not gotten back on, which was a good possibility given how things had been going for them recently.

By lunchtime, Gladio was about to call it quits. He must have scoured almost every carriage over the course of a few hours with absolutely nothing to show for his efforts. Just as he was heading back towards the dining car where Ignis had agreed to rendezvous, however, he heard it: someone was talking about the same thing as the guy he’d been hunting down. It definitely wasn’t the same person—not unless he’d shrunk a foot, put on weight, and grown a pair of…well, y’know—but Gladio figured it was close enough.

His new informant had been pretty helpful. She said she’d heard the rumors from some other passenger, one who fit the meager description Gladio had to work with, and offered to set up a meeting for the two of them. If it meant he didn’t have to wander around anymore, that was just fine with him.

Which was how he ended up staring out through the wall of windows in one of the sleeping carriages, glaring at the scenery like it had personally affronted him. This far from home and in the situation they were dealing with, it kinda _had_. But he had a job to do, friends to guide, and a king to protect. A little homesickness wasn’t about to stop him.

“Uh…hey. Excuse me?”

Gladio turned at the sound of the familiar voice and threw on a rakish smile for the woman who had offered to be his messenger. “Hey. You find the guy?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, returning his smirk. Her expression was more uneasy than when they’d spoken before, though; he hoped he hadn’t put her off with his brooding. “He said he’d meet you in the freight car in ten minutes.”

“That’s off the beaten path,” muttered Gladio slowly, eyes narrowed. She shrugged.

“That’s just what he told me.”

_Figures Ignis would send me after some weirdo._

“Yeah, I got it. Thanks for your help.”

As soon as his informant wandered off to rejoin her group, Gladio’s smile slid off his face. He didn’t like the idea of meeting some random stranger in the most remote part of the train, especially when that would mean leaving Noct by himself, but it looked like it couldn’t be helped. So, as he started heading back towards the dining car, he shot off a quick text to Prompto telling him to wake the hell up and go babysit the prince. At least he could trust the two of them not to get into _too_ much trouble on their own.

_Yeah. Who’m I kidding?_

 

***

 

“Hey captain, mission complete,” Gladio announced as he approached the booth where Ignis and Noct were seated.

It was something of a surprise to see the latter up and moving when it was still technically morning, but he’d noticed that the prince slept less since Altissia. Whether that had to do with his grief or some kind of trauma from the shit that went down with Leviathan was anyone’s guess, but as much as Gladio worried deep down about his charge, he couldn’t deny that it was a lot easier to get stuff done when they didn’t have to go through the same runaround just to get Noctis out of bed at a reasonable hour.

“Splendid,” answered Ignis, smirking in satisfaction.

They weren’t going to get away with not cluing Noct in, it seemed, because he automatically asked, “So what _caught your ear_?”

“Rumors of longer nights.”

Leaning against the back of Ignis’s banquette, Gladio added, “They’ve been growing longer, day by day.”

“There was talk of it back in Lucis, but recent days have shown an unseasonably sharp change,” Ignis elucidated.

Noct hummed thoughtfully, his eyes dropping to the table for a second. It was one of the increasingly frequent moments when Gladio could see the king he would grow to be if it weren’t for how often he still needed to get a grip on himself. When he didn’t comment further, Ignis continued, “Should this trend continue, before long…”

“There won’t be daylight,” Noct finished for him. The idea made Gladio shift uncomfortably.

“Well, it’s not out of the question. The empire’s already slain half of the Six.” Huffing out a humorless chuckle, he murmured, “No wonder the whole world’s in disarray.”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Noct’s expression seized up with what Gladio assumed were memories of his battle with Leviathan. Even his voice was tight when he muttered, “I…guess.”

If Ignis noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, which Gladio highly doubted he’d missed, he didn’t comment on it. Instead he pressed on, “And longer nights mean more daemons.”

“Seen that with our own eyes,” agreed Gladio, following his lead. Maybe the best way to handle Noct’s bouts of the doldrums were to just push past them before he had a chance to linger on whatever had gotten him out of whack. Gladio was willing to give it a shot, anyway.

“I happened to overhear a fellow passenger discussing this very same phenomenon.”

“So he sent yours truly to seek ‘em out.”

Somehow, it worked. Noct smirked and complimented him, “Nice police work.”

It still fell a little flat, but it was a start.

“Well,” Gladio addressed Ignis this time, “don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting.”

He nodded in agreement. “No, we don’t. Back in a moment.”

“Sure.”

With that, Gladio led the way back towards the rear of the train, Ignis following close on his heels. He made sure to step a little heavier than usual; there wasn’t enough space for Ignis to use his cane, so it dangled loosely from his hand while he relied on the sound of Gladio’s footsteps for direction. He had to admit the guy was getting pretty good at this. He still tripped or stumbled every now and again, but those instances were fewer and further between. The longer he spent in his unfortunate new state of being, the better he got at moving around on his own. That, even more than Noct and Prompto’s assurances that they would help Ignis out, was what gave him hope that this might just work without anyone having to be left behind.

And if it didn’t… Well, they’d had that conversation already before they boarded the train again in Cartanica. It had meant getting all the awkwardness out of the way when the other two weren’t around to avoid causing a scene, but there were things that needed to be out in the open. The fact that Gladio couldn’t be responsible for seeing to Ignis’s safety when Noct had to be his number one priority was at the top of the list. Ignis, true to form, had agreed wholeheartedly even though Gladio could tell he wasn’t pleased with the situation. None of them were, although his disappointment came from a more admirable place than sentiments from anyone else in the same position would have.

For Ignis, it wasn’t about the fact that his friends couldn’t necessarily promise to have his back—it was that _he_ wouldn’t have _Noct’s_ if worse came to worst.

There was no changing the past, though, and sitting around wishing they could was exactly the sort of thing Gladio had berated Noct for time and time again. So, they’d discussed all the contingencies and made plans; admittedly, Ignis already had most of them put together, so it was easy for Gladio to nod his head before remembering that Ignis wouldn’t be able to see it and agreeing aloud. If or when the time came, they would be ready…whatever that meant.

Listening to the distinct lack of fumbling around behind him, though, allowed Gladio to breathe a little easier. To say that they’d had shit luck this entire trip was really understating things, so he was desperately hoping that the Astrals would throw them a bone here. Losing Ignis would hit all of them hard, maybe even too hard to keep going, in one particular case. Noct couldn’t afford to lose anyone else, emotionally _or_ with regards to physical strength.

 _And he’s not gonna_ , Gladio swore to himself. Ignis would pull through, they’d make it to Gralea, and they’d kick that chancellor’s ass.

But first, they really needed to figure out what the hell was happening to the world.

“You really think this guy knows what he’s talking about?” he asked as they slipped through the door to the next compartment.

Ignis made a thoughtful noise before he smoothly evaded, “Our sources of intelligence are regrettably limited the further we travel from Accordo and Lucis. Any information we can glean on the present state of things, how ever suspect, would be of interest.”

Which was a lot of fancy words for Ignis saying that he had no damn clue. Gladio could appreciate that; in this case, it wasn’t just Noct’s advisor who was literally and figuratively in the dark. When they were in Lucis, they could count on hunters and informants for some insight. Stopping at Meldacio or Caem would yield plenty of intel. Now, though, their contact had to be limited—there wasn’t any choice in the matter. Altissia was one thing—the empire technically ran the place, but it was the local government that had de facto control of Accordo. Now that they were heading into _real_ enemy territory, they couldn’t take the chance that their communications would be intercepted and their location pinpointed. That, unfortunately, meant they couldn’t call back to Lucis to see what the hell was going on.

No Marshal, no Crownsguard…

_No Dad._

They were truly on their own out here.

So, they’d take a chance on this person of interest. If they were lucky, he’d have a few answers they’d been waiting to hear.

Not that he was planning on holding his breath. How often had luck been on their side on this shitshow of a road trip, anyway?

As if hearing his thoughts, Ignis suddenly stopped behind him with a troubled expression. They were still in the middle of a passenger carriage, so Gladio guided him by the arm out into one of the interchanges before asking, “What’s up?”

“I confess, I feel a bit…uneasy at the prospect of leaving Noct on his own,” was the reply, and he had to admit he didn’t necessarily disagree. It was a little late for that, though.

“Don’t worry,” Gladio reassured him. “I sent Prompto to keep ‘im occupied.”

Ignis’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he nodded, but the crease between his eyebrows didn’t smooth out.

“Somethin’ the matter?”

“I’m…not sure.”

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence. When Ignis got a bad feeling, he was usually right; when he couldn’t figure out what it _meant_... That’d never happened before.

“Maybe it’s just nerves,” Gladio suggested halfheartedly. “We’re all a little on edge these days. It’s kind of a given this far inside the empire.”

It didn’t look like Ignis bought it for a second, yet he simply nodded and murmured, “Perhaps.”

Great, now _Gladio_ was getting nervous just taking in how anxious Ignis looked. It didn’t sit right with him either, but they didn’t exactly have a lot of options; there was no way they were putting Noct in danger by taking him to meet whoever this guy was supposed to be. Noct was an adult and perfectly capable of protecting himself—Gladio was the one who taught him how, after all. Plus, they’d come a long way since the first few days outside the Wall. If Noct could take down a couple of gods, then he’d be fine for ten minutes.

 _He’d better be fine or he’ll have_ me _to deal with._

In spite of their respective job descriptions and the occasional joke, Ignis and Gladio weren’t Noct’s babysitters and never had been. There had to come a time when he stood on his own two feet, and what better practice than safely sitting with Prompto in the dining car while they were off getting some answers?

…He could _tell_ himself that, but it didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t so comfortable with the idea of splitting up. Not even slightly.

“All right, how about this? We find this guy, get the details, and get out. No long conversations. Shouldn’t take more than a minute to figure out whether he knows what the hell he’s talking about.”

Even his distaste for their situation couldn’t keep Ignis from smirking a bit. Some days, it was like he didn’t think the damn Shield of the king could come up with a reasonable plan.

“An acceptable course of action,” he approved, motioning for Gladio to take the lead once again. “Perhaps one of them will have thought ahead to acquiring lunch by the time we return.”

Gladio snorted. “Yeah, you keep dreamin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized that I haven't written from Gladio's perspective since that first story waaaaaay back! It was fun getting back into his head. In case it wasn't already clear, the dialogue between Gladio, Ignis, and Noct when he first gets back to the dining car is taken straight from the game.
> 
> Just a couple of things I'd like to point out, starting with Gladio's comment that he and Ignis worked things out. Before they board the train again in Cartanica, Gladio asks Ignis if they're clear, to which Ignis replies, "Crystal." My own belief is that Gladio and Ignis spoke separately from what we see down in the mine; the exchange simply doesn't fit otherwise. Also, on communication: aside from the (still unexplained!! D: ) phone call Noct gets on the train when they're near Shiva's resting place, none of them seem to have any contact with Lucis while they are in the empire's territory. The idea that it could be traced and lead those pesky MTs to their location seemed like a sensible reason, to me, for their newfound radio silence.
> 
> For more, check my Tumblr! theasset6.tumblr.com


	2. Disquiet

Prompto grinned at the display screen on his camera, scooting down lower in his bunk to lessen the glare from the window. Man, he remembered that day like it was just last week even though it had been _way_ longer than that. They hadn’t been run over by hurt feelings and broken hearts at that point, and you could tell just by looking at how carefree they all seemed. It wasn’t like they had much to worry about back then, not compared to now: Insomnia was still safe and whole behind the protection of the Wall, and that farce of a treaty hadn’t brought the empire knocking yet. Everything was just so normal, or as normal as it could be when you were escorting the crown prince to his wedding. Their biggest concern had been the car breaking down and having to take care of a few monsters in order to pay for it. …Okay, that _had_ sucked a little.

Still, this picture made it all worth it: Noct and Iggy, side by side with huge grins on their faces while Gladio laughed in the background. It wasn’t exactly a pose you’d think to see from a prince and his advisor, if Prompto was being honest, but it also wasn’t like anyone had been expecting much from them so far outside of Insomnia. No one out there cared if their future king and his right-hand man waved their arms at their sides as if they were doing some jazz ensemble on a stage; it was a tiny town in the middle of nowhere, and everyone went about their business as if they saw that sort of thing every day. Besides, why shouldn’t they have blown off a little steam and had some laughs? They’d just gotten the car put back together (which was _totally_ not his fault!) and were halfway to Galdin Quay. The boat to Altissia was supposed to be waiting for them, and everything should have been good.

They were allowed to enjoy the good times, right?

Flipping to the next picture, Prompto outright laughed at the goofy grin on Noct’s face in the selfie they’d taken on the pier—the one that led to where the boat to Altissia _hadn’t_ been waiting for them after all. In that moment, they were completely different people than they were now, even if their photos looked remarkably similar. They hadn’t bumped into Ardyn yet; they hadn’t seen just what the treaty signing meant for international travel. Sheesh, they hadn’t even gone on that stupid jewel hunt for Dino at that point. The next day, though… Maybe it was just because Prompto knew him so well, but he could see the difference in Noct’s face so clearly that it hurt a little. He’d probably be a pretty crappy friend if he _didn’t_ notice the way the prince’s eyes were a little dimmer when he laughed than they had been before, that his smiles came less frequently and with a lot more effort, and that his silence was a more common occurrence than the sarcastic barbs Prompto had come to rely on.

But the Noct on his screen? That guy was still pretty happy. Sure, he wasn’t totally enthusiastic about leaving home to get married to someone he hardly knew as anything but a pen pal, but he was still _Noct_. He hadn’t been forced to take up the mantle of king before he was ready, nor had he needed to set aside grieving his father’s death to go save the world or anything. The Noct on his screen was the friend he’d grown up with, not the guy who felt like he was failing everyone for not growing up fast enough.

Prompto loved the new guy just as much, but he couldn’t deny that he missed the old Noct either.

Maybe that was why he’d grabbed his camera once the others went on their way that morning and spent the last hour flipping through all the photos he’d taken on their journey so far. In the peaceful semi-quiet of their room in the sleeper carriage, he could let the last few weeks fall away and just focus on the good times. If he didn’t, he thought he might lose his mind pretty soon.

That wasn’t to say that things weren’t slowly getting better, at least when it came to the shattered pieces of their brotherhood when they left Altissia. Ignis’s outburst in Fodina Caestino had been good for something: knocking some sense into those two knuckleheads. The sniping between prince and Shield had ended, with the exception of their usual banter, but even that held a certain level of caution to it that was foreign to all of them. It was like they were worried the other would take their words the wrong way and set their fragile armistice on fire. A few hours of slightly strained conversation and having to sleep in the same room loosened them up a bit, though, and Prompto had hope that things would go back to normal soon.

 _Just_ in time for them to get to Gralea, where no one had any idea what would be waiting for them.

_Awesome._

His phone going off dragged Prompto out of his thoughts and memories, and he scrabbled for the device where he’d left it on top of their bag of curatives the night before. It wasn’t like he needed it half the time what with the whole Shield-mandated _radio silence unless it’s an emergency_ and all that, so knowing that someone wanted to get in touch with him made him a little nervous these days.

It didn’t help at all when Gladio’s name popped up with a text on his screen.

Was something wrong? Had their identities been figured out? Were there a bunch of MTs coming out of the woodwork to take them captive?

 _Whoa… Hold it together, Prompto._ He forced himself to take a deep breath as he opened the text, thinking, _It’s probably nothing. Maybe the train’s just gonna make it to Tenebrae early. Yeah. No biggie._

Well, they _weren’t_ in Tenebrae, but Prompto was still able to huff out an embarrassed laugh at the sight of a message fitting for Noct’s Shield: _“Following up a lead with Iggy. Get your ass up and keep Noct occupied.”_

Short, rude, and to the point. Yup, _totally_ Gladio, all right.

Invoking his wrath wasn’t exactly on Prompto’s to-do list today, though, so he regretfully stowed his camera with the curatives and got up. He could finish laughing at what a dork Noct pretended _not_ to be later.

The one problem with Gladio’s text, he realized quickly, was that it hadn’t really specified _where_ he could find the prince. It was almost lunch time, which meant that their typically drowsy friend would usually still be sleeping, but he’d been up almost as early as Ignis and Gladio that morning. Prompto _might_ have pretended to be asleep while they got ready and left the compartment, speaking in hushed tones so as not to wake him. It wasn’t that he wanted to hide from them necessarily; they were his best friends, and he loved spending time with them. That didn’t mean that he never needed a few minutes for himself, though, and he’d thought that now would be the best—maybe even the _only_ —time. Once they got to Tenebrae… Well, they really didn’t know what was going to happen after that.

Now, as he ducked in and out of the carriages trying to find a familiar face, he was beginning to regret his decision not to follow the others before. It would have been _so_ much easier to find Noct if they hadn’t been separated in the first place. He was almost ready to text Gladio and interrupt whatever he and Ignis had gotten up to when he stopped dead in his tracks to stare out a window with his mouth hanging open.

_That’s…something you don’t see every day._

Maybe he was understating that just a little bit. Insomnia was pretty consistent when it came to the weather, and Prompto didn’t have a whole lot of experience with the outside world, but…he suspected that deserts didn’t usually move in next door to blizzards. It just didn’t seem like something that made a whole lot of sense.

But this was the empire, and the empire _loved_ not making sense! Well, mostly its chancellor, but hey. Semantics.

As the train sped through the sparse mining towns (if you could even call them that), the mountains in the distance were getting pummeled with snow. It was so weird: cool air was blowing through the train purely because it was so _warm_ outside. The dusty landscape with its scrubby little bushes was as dry as a bone, so much so that Prompto highly doubted the area had seen any rain whatsoever recently. Yet it was still snowing probably no more than a mile away.

Was he dreaming this? No one else looked nearly as confused or worried as he did about the world going crazy. Maybe he hadn’t _actually_ woken up and Gladio’s text was all in his head, just like this weird weather?

Nah, he never got that lucky. Besides, the way a tremor went up his spine with the sudden feeling of being watched was too real to be a figment of his imagination. Alongside the insane sight outside, Prompto had to admit the whole thing was starting to freak him out a little.

_Gotta find Noct._

In general, it wasn’t good manners to run through a train. There were lots of people who shot you dirty looks for bumping into them, and kids seemed to think that just because one person was running, it meant that they should be allowed to as well… Yeah, not good manners at all.

Prompto did it anyway. He sped through that train so fast that he might have beaten a few of his previous records on those old morning runs he used to need to stay in shape. (After he began working with Gladio on some self-defense, and especially once they started kicking daemon ass and taking names, he found he was doing all right without the added exercise these days.) A few people yelled at him to slow down, but he didn’t pay them any mind. It had already been a few minutes since Gladio texted him, which meant that Noct had been by himself all that time. These people could deal with one guy in a hurry.

By the time he finally found Noct in one of the _far_ too many dining cars, Prompto was just about out of breath from a combination of effort, disquiet, and the surety that Gladio would roast him alive to add to a Cup Noodles if he didn’t make it to the prince pretty damn fast. He got lucky—Noct was just fine. No one was looking at him funny, whether in recognition or something more sinister, and it appeared that he was just calmly watching the same phenomenon that had delayed Prompto.

_Gladio-sized crisis averted!_

Prompto almost overshot the table in his enthusiasm and had to catch himself on the floor as he tripped over his own two feet. “Whoa! There you are, buddy!”

Noct didn’t immediately turn to look at him, so Prompto took a moment to lean against the table and catch his breath, nodding towards the unlikely snowstorm.

“Did you see this? It’s unreal!”

“Yeah,” agreed Noct, sounding just as incredulous as Prompto felt. “Never seen anything like it… Doesn’t make any sense.”

That was for sure—at least it wasn’t just him. Wouldn’t it totally be their luck if this was some new trick Niflheim had up their sleeve? They already ruled most of the world now and had their thumb firmly set on the places they _didn’t_ , so it didn’t seem all that far-fetched that they found some way to control the weather, too. This was a technological powerhouse they were talking about; if they could manufacture countless MTs to send after one wayward prince, a weather machine would probably be pretty easy for them.

And that was only _if_ they hadn’t figured out some way to use the Crystal to do it.

_Can they do that, though? I mean, it’s supposed to be only Noct’s family that can make it work…_

Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but there was no denying that weirder things had happened. Like, _ohhh_ , blizzards in the desert, maybe?

Noct abruptly slid out of his seat and pushed past Prompto into the aisle, probably to get a better look at the view from the other side of the train. “What’s going on?”

“It’s a real mystery,” murmured Prompto with a shrug. “I’m not liking that snow cloud. Kind of gives me the chills. Like, who comes up with this stuff?”

And that right there was when everything went wrong.

Noct had _never_ looked at him like that, as if…as if he was some kind of _enemy_. Even when they were kids and Prompto was positive his mere presence annoyed just about everybody, he’d never been subjected to that gaze. Indifference, lack of recognition, uncertainty—sure. But this? It was like Noct didn’t know who he was. Or, even worse, he _did_ and wasn’t a fan of what he saw.

And if his expression was bad, it was nothing compared to the way he darted forward and tried to punch Prompto right in the face a second later.

“The hell are _you_ doing here!?” he shouted, drawing the attention of basically _everyone_ in the carriage.

Prompto just barely managed to dodge his fist, staggering backwards and stammering, “Whoa, what’s going on!?” When Noct wheeled around and stalked towards him again, Prompto harmlessly held his hands up in front of him, palms out. “Easy there, buddy. Didn’t see that coming. You alright?”

Noct didn’t answer, using his surprise to attack him again—only this time, he summoned his sword first.

“Shut up!” he practically screamed. A few people rose out of their seats in shock as he sliced downwards, a move that would have easily left Prompto in two pieces had he not thrown himself back a few feet at the last second.

“Be careful there!” Prompto exclaimed, retreating slowly with wide and disbelieving eyes. His heart was pounding out of his chest, just as likely to kill him as Noct seemed determined to. “Wait—is this for real?”

Yes. Apparently, it was.

His admittedly well-rehearsed self-preservation instincts took over before he could see what Noct did next: he _ran_. Prompto was out the door and heading for the next carriage a few rapid heartbeats before Noct’s footsteps began to pursue him, his mind almost tripping him up rather than his feet this time. Why the hell was Noct attacking him? What had he done wrong!?

Now was obviously not the time to ask Noct that question, so Prompto flew through the sleeper car towards the next carriage, only stopping when the bang of a door echoed behind him and Noct stopped running. Glancing over his shoulder, he spotted the guy who was supposed to be his best friend throwing open one of the compartments and yelling, “Show yourself!”

_Uh… Wha--?_

It was stupid— _really_ stupid—but Prompto backtracked anyway. A huge part of him didn’t want to believe that Noct was chasing him down like some kind of criminal, content to imagine that this was all part of the dream he’d thought he was having earlier. If it was, then maybe Prompto could talk some sense into him.

“Uh…” He leaned in behind the prince, glancing over his shoulder at the empty bunks. “Noct?”

Another punch.

_Nope, not liking the whole sense thing right now! Very much not liking it!_

So, he ran. From his _best friend_. Who was scaring the hell out of him even as he cursed Prompto so quietly that he almost missed it.

He had just about reached the other end of the next carriage when Noct burst through the door, the few passengers in their audience following his progress with interested gazes.

“C’mon, Noct. You’re scaring me!” Prompto finally whimpered, backing towards the door. “Seriously, man, cut it out!"

Noct didn’t even falter. Ducking into the interchange, Prompto clutched a stitch in his side and wondered a few things, not least of which being just how much longer he could keep this up. Eventually, they were going to run out of train.

And then the traitorous voice in the back of his head, the one that had stalked his steps ever since he was a little kid, just _had_ to put its two gil in.

 _This is why Gladio really texted you_ , it sneered. _Why else would he and Ignis conveniently vanish just in time for Noct to try to kill you? They were ordered to—he_ wanted _to kill you, and now he has his chance._

But that couldn’t be it! He and Noct were best friends! Maybe he wasn’t quite as close with Ignis or Gladio, but he liked to think that they cared about him at least a little bit—definitely enough to question why Noct would want him dead and maybe stop the prince before he tried!

Where were they, though? If this was real and not just some crazy dream, then why weren’t they here to help him? To help _Noct_ control himself so he wouldn’t have to feel the regret later?

Noctis wasn’t a murderous person. Hell, he wasn’t even a vengeful person. No matter what Prompto had done, he wouldn’t resort to this—never this.

Yet here they were, running through the train like a couple of wild men, Noct conjuring weapons and attacking him as though no one else existed.

Realizing it made Prompto gasp out, “It’s not safe,” when they were once again contained in the same carriage, not that Noct seemed to care all that much. “Plus, you’re causing a scene.”

Nope, no shits given.

“Quit playing around, okay?”

That got him another sword to the face as Noct cried out, “You think this is funny!?”

Not at all, but it _was_ getting beyond ridiculous. “Dude, are you seriously trying to kill me!?”

“Why wouldn’t I!?”

Prompto felt his heart grow cold the moment he heard those words, and he stumbled over himself in the next interchange. With sudden clarity, he knew what it was he had done.

He was born a Niff.

Why else would Noct want him dead? He must have found out somehow, realized that his so-called friend was a traitor and decided to get rid of him before he could turn his back on all of them. After all, what good had Niflheim ever done for Lucis? They’d stolen Noct’s dad from him, his kingdom, his throne—they’d even taken his fiancée-slash-friend-slash-wingman to the Astrals. Why should Prompto live when everything he represented was evil?

He didn’t realize he’d stopped moving, frozen in anguish, until Noct’s voice broke through his stupor. “I’ve got you now!”

Whipping around, Prompto raised his hands to defend himself even though he knew it was useless. If Noct wanted to kill him, he could do it regardless of how hard Prompto tried to hold him off. He considered just giving up when he felt his back hit the wall, a certain finality to the sensation. _Dead end._

“What’re you after, following me around this whole time?” Noct snarled as he approached. If it were possible for Prompto’s stomach to fall further, it totally would have. “It’s all _your_ fault…”

“What are you talking about?” he couldn’t stop himself from blurting out just before Noct slammed him against the wall, his forearm pressed tightly to Prompto’s throat. He understood why Noct was mad at him for being a Niff, but…did he _really_ blame Prompto when he hadn’t actually done all those awful things himself? “Do you really mean that, Noct?”

There was no hesitation in his eyes or his voice as Noct retorted, “Of course I do! You can’t talk your way out of this!”

Maybe not, but Prompto _was_ the one who talked his way out of detention when their high school math teacher caught him skipping class to take pictures of squirrels. (It was springtime, and they were all cute and chubby from those acorns they’d eaten to stay plump all winter, okay? So sue him.) If anyone could do it, _he_ could.

“You won’t even let me!” he pointed out, pushing against Noct’s arm to get some air back in his lungs. “Noct, _please_. Can’t we talk for a sec?”

“Never.”

Muscles twitching with the effort of keeping Prompto pinned, Noct backed off slightly even though his expression clearly indicated he didn’t want to hear this. If he had it his way, his sword would have already impaled Prompto through the gut and this whole thing would have been over—Prompto knew that much. If he could just get Noct to _listen_ —

There wasn’t time. An explosion rocked the train, throwing Noct backwards; he hit his head against the hard floor and went still.

Gulping down the air he’d been running short on, Prompto slid down the wall to the floor. This wasn’t what he’d expected when he woke up today—not even close. He knew he should be worried that there was apparently something wrong outside the train; distant shouts of confusion and panic weren’t lost on him. That didn’t make it any easier to move, nor did it help him tear his eyes away from where Noct lay unconscious for even a moment.

“N-Noct?”

Against his better judgment, he crawled closer and put a trembling hand on the prince’s shoulder. Well, he was still breathing. That was something, at least. Of course, he’d probably still be ready to kill Prompto the second he woke up, but that was for later. He’d somehow been given the blessing of an extra minute to figure out what the hell was going on, so he’d take it while he could.

Or, that was the plan, anyway.

“Oh, dear. What an awkward turn of events.”

Prompto didn’t think as he jumped protectively in front of Noct; he didn’t stop to consider the fact that he’d just been chased through a train and nearly murdered at least half a dozen times. None of that mattered—not the pain of knowing Noct wanted him dead or the fact that he would have succeeded if Prompto moved even half a second too late. It meant nothing at all when the chancellor of Niflheim stood framed in the doorway to the next carriage, that seemingly benign but actually _evil_ little smirk on his lips.

“ _You_!” exclaimed Prompto, his voice hoarse from pleading with Noct. It was like someone had turned on the lights in a dark room, and all of a sudden, everything made sense. “Y-You did this!”

Ardyn pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense as he simpered, “Me? Why, I hardly know what you mean, dear boy.”

“Like hell you don’t!”

“If you ask me, it would seem that His Highness has _quite_ taken leave of his senses.”

“And who’s he got to blame for that?” growled Prompto. Before he’d really thought out the whole _let’s attack the imperial chancellor_ thing, he was charging towards the guy.

Without a weapon, because why not?

What he didn’t expect was to run headlong into a metal door, groaning as every limb lit up with pain. He somehow managed to ignore it long enough to turn and face the chuckling monster behind him, summoning his firearm—

_What the hell!?_

There were two Nocts. _Why_ were there two Nocts!? One was still very much unconscious while the other sneered at Prompto from where he was leaned up against the door to the outside of the immobile train. There was just no way…

One of them was Ardyn—had to be. Apparently, it wasn’t in the chancellor’s best interests to play with his head, because he wasn’t exactly making it hard to figure out which was which. The Noct in the doorway was wearing the same smug, superior expression that Ardyn seemed to have permanently painted onto his face. But how was it possible? The guy was a _politician_ , not a magician. Maybe it wasn’t the weather that Niflheim was controlling, after all—maybe they’d come up with some kind of machine that could change your appearance so you looked like someone totally different!

Was _that_ why Noct— _his_ Noct—had attacked him? If Ardyn was on the train with them, had he used whatever device was making him look like the prince to change Prompto into someone else?

 _Three guesses who_ , he thought darkly, reflecting on Noct’s nonsensical ramblings. Everything suddenly seemed so obvious.

Rather than attacking Prompto the way his best friend had, the fake Noct let him think things through as if he _wanted_ Prompto to realize the gravity of the situation: that their enemy had the technology or the magic or the whatever to become whoever he wanted—and they’d be none the wiser.

“What did you do?” he whispered in horror. The fake Noct’s smirk grew wider.

“I merely helped dear Noct see past your sweet, innocent surface to who you _truly_ are underneath.”

He even _spoke_ with Noct’s voice, but Prompto couldn’t dwell on it when his blood congealed with the implications of that answer. Did… Did Ardyn know…?

If he did, he wasn’t telling. Instead he slid open the door and vanished through it, his eyes daring Prompto to follow.

For a second, all Prompto could do was stare numbly after him. If the chancellor knew where he came from and who he was, there was no telling what he’d do with that information. The fact that he could easily tell Noct was the least of his concerns, and the relief he thought he would have felt at his secret still being safe never made an appearance. Prompto’s eyes sought out his unconscious best friend, his gaze blurry with guilty tears at having thought that Noct would _seriously_ want him dead for something like where he was born. That just wasn’t who he was. Maybe he would have sent Prompto away, or it would have driven a wedge between them even if the former allowed him to stay, but _killing him_? No, it wasn’t _Noct_.

But it _was_ the kind of game Ardyn would play to make him think that was the case.

So, although he hated the idea of leaving Noct by himself even without Gladio’s orders to stick with him, Prompto whispered an apology under his breath and went after Ardyn. Enough was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Citation note: The dialogue between Noct and Prompto is taken from the game. 
> 
> Um...sorry? 
> 
> theasset6.tumblr.com


	3. Reconnaissance or Redirect?

“Stairs ahead. Watch your step.”

“Thank you.”

Gladio paused to spot Ignis while the latter almost expertly used his cane to gauge the height and width of the stairs, adjust accordingly, and step down into the freight car with only the slightest wobble in his step. It was pretty damn impressive, and he found himself extremely glad that Ignis couldn’t see the grin on his face. The guy still had a ways to go, so now wasn’t the time for compliments. If they could make it through Gralea like this, though, Gladio would shower him with them.

When he turned around, the smile slid off his face as he prepared to get back to business. The only problem was that their informant didn’t appear to be holding up his end of the bargain: besides the crates and luggage, it was just them.

The place was spacious enough that they had plenty of room to move ( _or fight_ , he mused silently), but there were no windows to see what was going on outside and Gladio wasn’t a fan of the limited number of sightlines. It would be fairly easy for someone to hide behind a stack of crates if they wanted to spy or attack from a place of relative safety and stealth. That wasn’t even counting the ways he was already imagining that the luggage could be used against them in a pinch. Of course, they could just as easily toss the shit back, but Gladio had Ignis to worry about and knew that a bunch of junk on the floor would be a recipe for disaster. The last thing they needed was for him to trip up at a key moment.

Still, there was something to be said for getting here to case the place before their company arrived. It didn’t settle Gladio’s nerves, not one bit, but he could deal.

Ignis, on the other hand, radiated calm as he tapped his way over to a row of crates and sat down. You would have thought he was attending some fancy dinner back at the Citadel, his posture was so prim. It would have made Gladio laugh if it didn’t remind him of all that they’d lost.

“You said our informant specified ten minutes, correct?” he inquired with a deceptively casual air of curiosity.

While Gladio began pacing the length of the carriage to inspect its various hidden corners, he confirmed, “That’s what _my_ informant told me, anyway. Whole thing still sounds pretty sketchy.”

Ignis hummed noncommittally, not quite an agreement. “Would that there were some other way for us to gather intelligence.”

“You said it.”

They fell silent, Ignis assuming an air of such stillness that it made Gladio twitchy. He’d been used to Ignis’s calm, collected exterior for years; they’d grown up in the same place preparing to do similar jobs, after all. Still, at times like these when Gladio was almost prowling around like a caged animal, it was damn near unnerving to turn and see that Ignis wasn’t bothered in the slightest. He supposed that wasn’t _totally_ the case anymore, at least not as much as it would have been otherwise, what with the latter’s disability and the adjustments it required. In fact, upon closer inspection, he noticed a certain stiffness in Ignis’s shoulders that wouldn’t have been there a few years ago; his head was tilted ever so slightly towards the door, obviously listening for footsteps or any other sign that they were about to be joined by someone else. Gladio was proud of that: it was good to see Ignis on high alert even if he still looked like he was waiting for afternoon tea to be served. He could forgive him the creepy composure.

A few repetitive sweeps of the carriage offered up no results with regards to spies or attackers, and while Gladio couldn’t say his mind was set at ease, he did allow his muscles to relax a bit now that he’d ruled out any threats. Well, any _present_ and _unexpected_ threats. There was no telling when it came to whoever they were meeting. He was a mystery—and if there was one thing Gladio hated, it was a mystery.

Maybe that was why Ignis decided that now was a good time for a chat, inappropriate as it seemed.

“Well, while we’re waiting,” he mused, crossing one leg over the other in that _way_ he had of indicating that he was settling in for the long haul, “there is something I would like to discuss that we never quite settled in Cartanica.”

“Like what?”

“I think you already know.”

Gladio grunted but didn’t say anything else. Yeah, he had sort of figured that this conversation was going to have to happen at some point. He’d just been hoping that it wouldn’t be so soon. After all, it wasn’t like they had time to dwell on this when they were literally in the middle of a reconnaissance mission, and a tricky one at that. But Ignis was nothing if not resourceful, and if he could find a spare minute to get a word in and settle a matter that was still in the wind, he would.

At least Ignis skipped the heated admonishment and went straight for the mild rebuke, though. That was something, anyway. “You mustn’t push so hard. Doing so will aggravate the situation more than remedy it.”

He got that. He _did_. But… “If someone _doesn’t_ push him, he’ll never move on,” he argued without heat. Ignis tilted his head in what Gladio would assume was agreement, albeit grudging.

“While that may be the case, we must also remember that our duty to Noct is not only as his retainers.”

“You sayin’ we should go easy on ‘im just because we’re friends?”

“Not at all,” Ignis denied, utterly unruffled. “However, it is worth noting that such blurring of the lines between those roles has made it more difficult to engage in the same relationship that a monarch would ordinarily have with his attendants. I’m sure it was much the same with King Regis and Master Clarus.”

All right, Ignis had him there. Gladio could still remember times when his father would mumble to himself under his breath about this or that decision that he’d lobbied against only to lose in the end. There was never any malice behind it; his dad and King Regis were even closer than Gladio was to Noct, if he was being honest. Everything he did was with the king’s best interests in mind and at heart, but being so close meant that when King Regis didn’t necessarily agree and got all self-sacrificing, his dad didn’t get the luxury of professional detachment.

The same thing was happening here. Back when they were kids, he could and _did_ write Noct off pretty easily when they didn’t see eye-to-eye. They hadn’t forged the bond they had now, though; Gladio wasn’t as willing to serve him, to die for him in those days. Over time, that had changed, and with it the way he interacted with Noct. All of a sudden, what his dad went through seemed to make a whole lot more sense.

Ignis granted him a moment with his memories before he continued, “I do not mean that you shouldn’t provide Noct with the motivation to go on—he _needs_ that much. But the constant animosity between you when he doesn’t meet your expectations is counterproductive to our mission, among other things. If you cannot maintain a degree of levelheadedness and continue to let your anger get the better of you, you _will_ push him away. A king needs his Shield, as both retainer _and_ friend. Such distance is something we can ill afford.”

Despite how petty he knew it was to feel this way, Gladio couldn’t help his relief that Ignis wouldn’t be able to comment on his sour expression. Well, _chastised_ was probably a more appropriate word. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about how their arguments would impact his relationship with Noct—as a matter of fact, it was frequently on his mind. The way he saw it, though, there was a choice to be made there: either he settled for silence and let Noct self-destruct, or he took the road that made him less popular and at least ended up with a king prepared to face anything. Throughout the course of their journey, he’d toed the line. He’d been Noct’s friend when he could while shifting fluidly into acting as his Shield when necessary. Even if it meant Noct hated him for it, he’d been honest and pushed him in the direction he thought Noct needed to be going in. There were just so many situations where it didn’t feel like he could be _both_ friend and Shield, particularly when Noct reverted to petulant, childish behavior that Gladio felt he should have abandoned the day Insomnia fell.

But that was Ignis’s whole point, wasn’t it? His opinion didn’t matter. The kind of king Noct grew to be wasn’t _his_ decision.

In that moment, words he hadn’t quite understood (but thought he did, of course) drifted back to him in his memories, and he barked out a laugh.

“Guess the king had a point,” he muttered, more to himself than to Ignis.

The latter quirked an eyebrow in curiosity anyway. “What was that?”

Planting both hands on his hips and shifting his weight uncomfortably, Gladio asked, “You remember the day we left?”

“I find it rather difficult to forget,” Ignis answered with a shrewd smirk. It almost made Gladio roll his eyes.

“What King Regis said to us at the end, about not _guiding_ —“

“Merely remaining at his side,” echoed Ignis, his smile turning sadder. “I remember.”

“I…guess that was his way of warning us not to go too hard on ‘im.”

Nodding, Ignis soberly observed, “The king was always well aware of Noct’s discomfort with the idea of taking the throne. I’m sure he knew better than any of us that it would take time.”

What he didn’t mention was that _time_ was definitely a luxury King Regis would have known they didn’t have, but the words hung in the air between them anyway. Even if Gladio didn’t necessarily agree with the plan, even if he would rather have stayed in Insomnia to fight with the rest when the empire turned on them, he had to admire the love King Regis obviously had for Noct to choose saving him over an entire city. If _he_ thought Noct needed time…

“Well, damn.”

“Aptly articulated.” Ignis paused a moment before sighing, and when he spoke again, it was with a level of certainty Gladio wished he could share. “I meant what I said in the mine, Gladio. Noct _will_ be a good king. He already exhibits many excellent qualities, but we must allow him to go at his own pace. To do otherwise would be to place ourselves in the position of tyrants rather than attendants.”

Gladio grunted in acknowledgement, folding his arms over his chest. It wasn’t _exactly_ Ignis’s way of saying he’d been an ass, but it was pretty damn close. There was no arguing with that, though, so Gladio wasn’t even going to try. Debating Ignis on matters of state was something he’d learned _never_ to do long before they left Insomnia.

Besides, now that the emotional crap was over, there was a more pressing problem.

“I’m getting the feeling we’ve been stood up.”

“I was beginning to suspect the same,” agreed Ignis, maneuvering himself onto his feet. “You’re sure he intended this as the location?”

“Yeah, the freight car. Not like he can get to any of the others without coming through here first.”

Ignis didn’t say anything in response, but the way his eyebrows furrowed was enough to indicate that he was feeling just as uneasy as Gladio. It was always possible the guy was just late, of course. After all, it wasn’t like he owed them anything; he could have changed his mind and decided it wasn’t worth meeting with complete strangers just to talk about the weather. He also hadn’t gotten the full effect of Gladio at his most intimidating thanks to his proxy, so it wasn’t like he would know who he was messing with.

“Well,” mumbled Gladio with a grimace, “guess that lead was a dud.”

Nodding, Ignis seemed no less on edge when he suggested, “It might be wise to return to Noct and Prompto. I fear we’ve been away too long already.”

Ordinarily, Gladio wouldn’t think anything of a statement like that. Ignis tended to worry when he didn’t have eyes on the others, or _ears_ in this case. Call it some kind of obsession, but it was obvious he felt most in control of a situation when he was present.

That was on a _normal_ day, though. _Today_ , there was something off about the way he held himself. Very off.

“You think something’s up?” Gladio was already on his way to the door, skipping the steps and hopping right up to the top.

“I’d…rather not jump to conclusions, but it strikes me as odd that someone would send us to such a remote location and then fail to show.”

_Meaning this could all have been some kind of trap to get Noct by himself. Shit._

The moment Gladio tugged on the door handle, he _knew_ it was a trap—no _could be_ about it. While it had slid open without prompting before, the door didn’t budge no matter how hard Gladio pulled now. The full force of his weight wasn’t enough to wrench it open, and he cursed under his breath at the fact that it wasn’t a door he could kick down.

“It’s locked,” he called back to Ignis, although he figured it was hardly necessary.

Following the sound of his voice, Ignis approached the steps so quickly that, if Gladio didn’t know any better, he would have thought he could see where he was going. “Is there an emergency release or a manual override?”

Gladio wheeled around and scanned the freight car, but there was no sign of anything that was going to help them get this door open. Well, except for a crow bar.

“No, but hang on. I’ve got an idea.”

“Hurry.”

“Goin’ as fast as I can here,” Gladio shot back, his frustration getting the better of him as he practically tore the tool off its mount. There was no way of knowing whether it would be enough to get the door open until he tried, although he had his doubts. The thing was pretty flimsy, clearly meant for unpacking crates and not wedging open heavy metal doors. Still, it was worth a shot.

Ignis was rooted to the spot when he sprinted back towards the door, maintaining his distance so that Gladio could work. It turned out to be a good thing when, after barely applying any weight, the crow bar snapped like Prompto’s nerves in an underground tomb. The end that Gladio wasn’t clutching in his sweat-slick fists went flying and hit the wall with a deafening _clang_.

They weren’t getting out that way, apparently. Although he had suspected as much, he still wasn’t able to mask his irritation as he kicked the door and announced, “No luck.”

“I gathered as much,” was Ignis’s distracted reply. Gladio turned to see him digging through his pockets with an impatient frown until he had his phone in hand. “When Prompto described the train to me, he said there were switches in the interchanges. They must control the doors.”

“So, if we can get Noct or Prompto down here…” Gladio began, already seeing where this was going. Sure enough, Ignis nodded in affirmation.

“They can let us out.”

It probably would have been easier if Gladio used his phone, but Ignis was already tapping the button on the side of his to enable the voice recognition. “Dial Noctis.”

 _“Dialing Noctis,”_ the cool, automated female voice confirmed just seconds before Gladio could hear ringing on the other end.

That had been a pretty neat trick. Leave it to Prompto to figure out that just because Ignis was blind didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to use his phone anymore. The touch screen would definitely be an issue since there was no way for him to find the commands, but with a few keystrokes, Prompto had him back in business. It had been a heartwarming sight, not that Gladio would ever admit it, and he found himself smirking a little in spite of the circumstances.

That is, until they both noticed that the phone kept ringing…and _ringing_.

Given how hard Gladio lunged for the door, it _really_ should have let him out on principle. Still, it decided to hold because it was a bitch and knew he was in a hurry.

Noct wasn’t answering. Noct _never_ failed to answer his phone, not since they left Insomnia. It had been touch and go at times when they were still at home and things were okay—or seemed it, anyway, as Gladio had long since given up any illusion that things had ever been _fine_. Back when Noct had still been in school, it would be a while before you got an answer from him even if you texted. (That was mostly because he knew that Ignis would have his ass if either of them caught him slacking off when he was supposed to be paying attention.) After that, there were occasions when he’d sleep through the call or forget to turn the ringer up after he got out of a meeting at the Citadel, but otherwise? Not so much. Gladio had made only three rules about Noct’s phone, and he still remembered Ignis’s snide little list where he’d posted it on Noct’s fridge the first and only time the prince had broken one.

_Rule one: If your father calls, you answer it._

_Rule two: If Gladio calls, you answer it._

_Rule three: If Ignis calls, you answer it._

There were no exceptions to those rules, not once Noct graduated from school and had little reason _not_ to take the call. If one of the three of them were trying to get in touch with the prince and didn’t just text, there was something up. It might not be an emergency, but it _would_ be important nonetheless.

Out here in the middle of imperial territory? Yeah, this was one of those _If Ignis Calls, You Better Goddamn Answer It_ moments.

But he didn’t, and by the time the prince’s voicemail picked up, Gladio was pretty sure his fingers were about to start bleeding from how hard he was trying to wedge them between the metal door and its frame. The damn thing refused to move half a centimeter, and Gladio was seriously contemplating just putting his fist through it to see if that would help. He doubted it, but maybe it would make him feel a little better.

Ever the rational one, Ignis didn’t give up just yet and tersely ordered his phone to call Prompto instead. Maybe they’d just gotten unlucky enough for Noct’s to have died or he hadn’t heard it over the noise of the train. It sounded like a lie even in Gladio’s head, though. Something had felt off about this ever since his informant had relayed that son of a bitch’s message. He should have questioned it more when she told him the freight car would be their rendezvous point. Who the hell wanted to meet in the most remote, abandoned part of the train? Someone who didn’t want anyone to hear them if they shouted for help, that’s who. The thought had occurred to Gladio earlier, yet rather than telling Ignis it sounded like someone was up to no good, he’d led his friend right into a trap.

Over the _weather_.

They never should have come here. They never should have left Noct and Prompto alone, and when the latter’s phone also went to voicemail, Gladio started slamming his fists against the door in a mad and unsuccessful attempt at beating the damn thing into submission. His charge was out there—his friend, his _brother_ —and he was stuck in here. If this guy had gone to all this trouble to trap them in here, he had to know something, and now Noct was out _there_ with whoever it was.

Who the hell played games like this just to separate them? Who would throw out intel that was sure to catch Ignis’s attention all so that he could mess with their heads?

_Oh, hell._

“That goddamn chancellor’s behind this,” Gladio growled at the door, driving both fists into it above his head and pausing to catch his breath. It wasn’t working. “I guarantee it.”

“The same thought had occurred to me,” came Ignis’s strangled reply.

Great. Just great. So they were stuck on a train headed straight into the heart of the empire with no way to escape and their actively _hunted_ prince somewhere out in the open. Without his Shield. Gladio didn’t want to say Noct was helpless because that was far from the truth, but it still felt like someone had shoved a dagger into his chest and _twisted_. All his misgivings, all the misplaced anger, had led him to this moment: it all fell away as the terror that his charge would never be king consumed him.

It was only Ignis’s collected yet tense voice that kept Gladio from going absolutely insane. Even then, it was a pretty near miss.

“There has to be another way out.”

“If you’ve got any other bright ideas, I’m listening.” He didn’t mean to growl, but his frayed nerves were close to snapping. Thankfully, Ignis knew him too well to hold it against him.

“Follow the freight cars,” he suggested. Gladio turned to see him pointing in the opposite direction. “If you can reach the outside of the train, there should be a way to scale the carriage and get back into the interchange.”

“That’s _if_ that ain’t locked too.”

“Would you rather wait for someone to find us here?”

Okay, he deserved that. It didn’t take a genius to know that when Ignis snapped at you, you’d definitely gone too far.

Just as Gladio was about to slink off with his tail between his legs to do as Noct’s advisor dictated, there was a loud _bang_ against the side of the carriage that made it sway slightly.

_That’s not normal._

He’d barely taken a step towards the source of the sound, intent on figuring out what the hell was going on, when Ignis shouted, “Get down!” and tackled him. It was a good thing, too, because the wall of the carriage exploded inward not a second later, spraying the interior with shrapnel and debris.

Somehow, whether by the blessing of the Astrals (which he doubted) or sheer dumb luck (which would be a real change but slightly more likely), they had landed behind a stack of crates tall enough to shield them from the worst of the damage. When Gladio moved to sit up, he glanced around them to see that bits of metal were embedded in the wood rather than their faces.

“How the hell…?”

Ignis, slightly out of breath, straightened his glasses and fumbled for his phone where it had apparently gone flying when they landed. Gladio grabbed it for him as he explained, “I could hear the beeping of the timer.”

“From…all the way out there?” asked Gladio incredulously. Ignis merely shrugged.

“That would appear to be the case.”

“Damn, Iggy.”

“Indeed,” he agreed. If the slightly satisfied smirk on his face was anything to go by, he was awfully proud of having gotten to save Gladio’s ass. _Again_. “However, perhaps now isn’t the time for braggadocio?”

That much was true. Suddenly, it seemed like Ardyn Izunia was going to be the least of their worries if someone was trying to blow up the train on top of everything else. Given the force of what had already struck the freight car, Gladio was surprised they hadn’t derailed. If the other carriages suffered anything like that, though, it was only a matter of time.

So, yanking Ignis upright with him, Gladio got to work.

“Looks like I’m not gonna have to make my way to the back of the train anymore,” he mused, edging closer to the enormous hole where there had once been a wall separating them from the outside. Whatever was going on had to be pretty bad, because the train had come to a complete stop while they were taking cover.

Ignis followed a moment later, and Gladio threw out a hand to keep him back before he fell out. Just because they weren’t moving didn’t mean it wasn’t still dangerous.

Nodding his thanks, Ignis inquired, “Did the blast do enough damage for you to fit through?”

“Oh yeah,” Gladio snorted. “You could say that. Half the damn wall’s missing.”

“A…fortunate turn of events.”

“That’s one way of puttin’ it.”

At least now he wouldn’t have to worry about making his way along the side of a speeding train without falling off. That would have sucked no matter _how_ much he wanted to get out of there and find Noct. It was much easier to jump down onto the ground, warning Ignis to stay where he was until Gladio could get the door open, and sprint down the length of the freight car to the interchange. After that, it was too damn easy to hit the switch on the other side of that traitorous door so that Ignis could join him.

“Where to now, captain?” he asked, already reaching out a hand to summon his greatsword when he heard explosions further up the train. “We should probably go find those two before they land themselves in trouble.”

There was a slight pause, then, “I disagree.”

That was another moment where, despite the unfortunate circumstances, Gladio was _so_ glad Ignis couldn’t see his expression.

“You _don’t_ want to go find them when the train is _literally_ blowing up,” he deadpanned, much to Ignis’s annoyance.

“I am merely trying to think ahead,” he countered. “Noct and Prompto are skilled enough to hold their own. If we don’t get the train moving again, however, it is very likely that it will be destroyed and the passengers killed. Noct might very well be taken into imperial custody, and we would be powerless to help him. We _must_ restart the train.”

Gladio didn’t like it. In fact, he was pretty sure he _hated_ it. But…well, Ignis had a point, as always. Finding Noct and Prompto wouldn’t do them much good if they were just going to get captured by the Niffs immediately after. He’d seen the MTs heading towards the train further down the tracks; it couldn’t be a coincidence that they had chosen to waylay _this_ line when there were so many others they could interrupt. If they killed these people, these _innocents_ , it would be on _them_.

So, Gladio set aside his fear. He set aside his indecision.

He thought of _Noct_. Would his prince—his _king_ —want him to damn all these people to a sudden and undeserved death just to protect _him_?

_Hell no, he wouldn’t._

If they were anywhere else, Gladio would have gone running for Noct anyway. If they were in Lucis, he would have warned everyone on the train to run and gone to his king to get him the hell out of there. This wasn’t Lucis, though, and a dead train meant death for all of them, even Noct.

So, with a nod and a terse, “Yeah, all right,” Gladio summoned his greatsword and led the way forward. They needed to get this train running, and they needed to do it fast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I really enjoyed this chapter. Now that we're getting closer to the end of the series, I find that I have much fewer notes for you guys since I've already referenced so much! For this chapter, I do have a few:
> 
> 1) When Noct calls Ignis after he blacks out, not only does Ignis not seem at all surprised to hear that Ardyn was aboard the train, but he also answers with, "what's wrong." That told me that he and Gladio had determined in some way that Ardyn was there and had also expected Noct to be able to hold his own while they restarted the train. In the case of the former, I thought it would have something to do with the fact that they were conveniently separated from Noct's side to chase a lead that they never mention again afterwards. Somehow, that seemed too sketchy to be genuine. 
> 
> 2) At the beginning of Chapter Twelve, the summary says that Ardyn used a stitch in time to change appearances with Prompto. That being said, I thought it would be pretty unrealistic if their phones worked when they were technically taken out of the current chronological plane. (I say this mainly because the people around Noct are frozen in time during that scene.)
> 
> 3) You may have noticed that Ignis did not call Prompto again when they decided to get the engine restarted even though Ardyn!Prompto tells Noct that that's what they're up to. This is very much on purpose--Ardyn is definitely the type to spy on them and use that information to his benefit. 
> 
> 4) Regarding the conversation between Ignis and Gladio towards the beginning of the chapter, I noticed that when they get to Tenebrae, Gladio is much softer and more like his old self with Noct than he has been since Altissia. Although part of that may have a great deal to do with Prompto's disappearance, I also thought that getting some time alone with Ignis might have led to a bit of soul-searching as well. The reference to Regis and Clarus butting heads is from "Kingsglaive," as there are a few instances where Clarus pleads with Regis to make certain decisions only for him to do the opposite.


	4. Real or Not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, long chapter with a Kingdom Hearts-themed title. :D

_Where the hell did he go?_

Prompto edged towards the far end of the carriage, firearm at the ready as he whipped around the corner and took aim at…

Nothing.

Sighing, he let his weapon fall to his side and shook his head at the sky. What was he even _doing_ out here? He really hadn’t thought this one through. Maybe Ardyn had just been luring him away so he could get Noct all by himself—that would make sense, right? Then again, Noct had been alone when Prompto found him; the chancellor would have had plenty of time to move on him if that was his goal. No, there was something else happening here. Prompto just couldn’t figure out _what_.

Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. That much was for sure even when Ardyn decided he was going to do them a favor.

Could it really be called that, though? Every single time they trusted him for even a second, it backfired on them. When he offered to take them to the Disc of Cauthess, they’d drawn the empire right to the Archaean. When he saved their asses from the exploding fiery pit they were about to get stuck in, he also stole the Regalia. When he ordered Aranea to lead them to the mithril, daemons had _mysteriously_ found their way inside the power plant in Lestallum by the time they got back. When he cleared the base and made that Ravus guy back off, it was with the promise that he’d see them again in Altissia.

Man, don’t even get him _started_ on Altissia and what a mess that had been.

With each new so-called _favor_ , things just got worse and Ardyn learned a little more about them. Enough, it seemed, to be pretty dangerous with this new trick of his.

 _Why can’t he be like_ normal _bad guys and just shoot at us? That would be so much easier._

And way simpler to defend against, as well. Prompto almost smiled at the image his mind conjured of Gladio taking Ardyn down, the latter wielding some huge gun while the big guy sliced his arm off to match Ravus. If wars were like _that_ , everything would already be over.

If wars could be like _that_ , Insomnia never would have fallen. They never would have had to leave the city. Noct’s dad would still be alive—so would Gladio’s. Prompto would know what became of his own parents, poor excuses for guardians as they were…

“Hurts when the people who are supposed to care aren’t actually bothered one way or another, doesn’t it?”

Prompto hadn’t realized he’d been idly leaning up against the side of the carriage, his gun still dangling uselessly at his side, until the familiar yet _unfamiliar_ voice taunted him from a few feet away. In an instant, he had his weapon pointed straight at Noct’s— _no, not Noct’s, not Noct’s—_ face where the latter was sneering at him defiantly. Prompto didn’t even have to wonder if this was the real one, not when he was glaring at Prompto as if he were the most disgusting pile of chocobo poop this side of Wiz’s post. _His_ Noctis would never do that.

Not when he didn’t know he had reason to.

“What are you _after_ , Ardyn?” he growled, sounding more confident than he felt. It was all he could do to keep his finger steady on the trigger without either dropping his gun or accidentally shooting the chancellor’s face off. Only one of those things could be forgiven, he supposed, but they’d never find out where the Crystal was if it happened.

_Ah, well. Next time._

Noct— _Ardyn_ —waved a hand flippantly to the side, definitely less concerned with Prompto being armed than he would have hoped. He tried not to let that rankle.

“What am I after?” he simpered smoothly in Noct’s voice. “I’m here to help, of course.”

Snorting, Prompto countered, “Yeah, for a price, I’ll bet.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean by that.”

“Every time you try to _help_ us, something goes wrong!”

Ardyn tutted in condescension. “Can I really be blamed if you manage to find yourselves in trouble so frequently?”

“Trouble you cause,” retorted Prompto under his breath. There was no question that Ardyn heard him—he just didn’t care.

“Such atrocious allegations, none of which can be substantiated with evidence, I assume?”

…Okay, he had Prompto on that one, and they both knew it. While he was struggling not to stand there with his mouth opening and closing like one of Noct’s fish, Ardyn raised a finger to casually sweep the gun away from where it was still firmly aimed at his forehead. That snapped Prompto out of his stupor; he jerked his weapon back into place and gritted his teeth at the exasperated sigh from Ardyn.

“If you were here to help, then you wouldn’t be turning us against each other,” he grunted, clenching his fist tighter around the handle. Ardyn raised an eyebrow in an expression of disdain Noct wasn’t even _capable_ of much less likely to actually make.

“Turning you against each other?” he inquired. It would have sounded sympathetic if anyone else said it. “My dear Prompto, I assure you, I merely wanted you to understand the gravity of your situation.”

Was it possible for his heart to beat faster _and_ go swimming in his stomach at the same time? He was pretty sure it just did.

“W-What situation would that be?” he demanded, inwardly cursing himself for the nervous stutter that would definitely give him away to someone as shrewd and calculating as Ardyn.

The way his smirk widened confirmed it. “Why, the unfortunate truth of your origins.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He’d practiced that phrase almost his whole life in preparation for this moment: a day when someone accused him of being exactly what he was. It came to him immediately now even though he’d never had use of it before. That was pretty funny, actually—growing up in Lucis, he would have thought for sure that somebody would realize he was _different_ and question him about where he really came from, but it never happened. Well, not _never_. There had been no point in lying to the Marshal, though; it was sort of hard to when the guy literally had Prompto’s entire life in his hands at the time. Now, however, facing down the imperial chancellor of Niflheim from the other end of a loaded gun, the last thing Prompto wanted was to admit that they weren’t so different after all.

Whether it was that he said it too quickly or didn’t sound sure enough or hell, maybe Ardyn had a file of his own—whatever it was, the chancellor chuckled darkly under his breath as if Prompto was a kid lying about stealing cookies from the kitchen. It made a shiver travel up his spine, and all of a sudden, he had a feeling he knew what it was that caused him to suspect he was being watched earlier.

“What a shame,” sighed Ardyn once his amusement apparently wore off. His eyes—Noct’s eyes—turned sad, but it wasn’t right. When Noct felt bad about something, he wouldn’t make eye contact; his gaze would drop to the floor or search here and there for something else to focus on besides the person he was talking to. He’d look at the _sky_ before he stared you in the face for fear of embarrassing either himself or whoever he was trying to fool. Ardyn turned that expression into a mockery, and it lit up Prompto’s insides with a powerful hatred he’d never felt for anyone quite the way he did for the chancellor.

Maybe that was why Prompto snorted, “A shame you’ve been found out, huh?”

“A shame that you’ve had to hide who you _truly_ are for so long.”

“I’m not hiding _anything_.”

“Oh?” Ardyn hummed, eyebrows raised. “Perhaps we should have a little chat with Noctis, then? We can clear up any misunderstandings right away.”

Prompto knew the instant he lost that fight because his face paled so fast that he could actually feel the blood surging down towards his feet. Obvious as it was to him, his stomach still turned at the sight of Ardyn’s triumphant grin.

“So, that would be a _no_?”

Okay, rule number one when you got stuck alone with an imperial chancellor that happened to control entire _armies_ : maybe _don’t_ try to pistol-whip him in the face. Prompto felt like he really should have known that before he tried it, but hey, learning through doing and all that. His gun never made contact with Ardyn’s head, though, and Prompto stumbled forward into the empty space the chancellor had vacated.

 _Vacated_ was putting it really nicely. _Vanished from_ was a little more accurate.

 _Since when can he just up and_ poof _away like that!?_

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be quicker,” came the put-out sneer, and Prompto whirled on his heel to fire off a shot at the head that poked over the edge of the carriage roof.

Or…there _had_ been a head there. Maybe. Right?

“Still not quite. Honestly, and they consider _you_ the fast one?”

There! Prompto had to pull a quick one-eighty as Ardyn appeared on the carriage behind him, the world spinning a little as his brain struggled to keep up with his constant turning—and the fact that Ardyn was apparently able to teleport or something, which was just…what!?

Right now, that was the least of his concerns, though. Because Ardyn didn’t look like Noct anymore.

Prompto was staring into his own eyes now.

 

***

 

Gladio dove forward and slid along the floor to avoid the slash of the MT assassin’s blades. It was so close that he could feel the shifting of the air where it would have beheaded him half a second earlier, but he didn’t have time to panic. Instead he shifted to drive his greatsword into the floor and propel himself back onto his feet behind his enemy. Ignis was still on the other side and well within its mechanical sights, dagger at the ready even though he couldn’t see what was coming towards him. Maybe they’d test his ability another day when they weren’t currently under attack from a literal battalion of MTs, though; for now, they couldn’t afford for any of them to get hurt.

So, rotating his grip, Gladio let out a roaring cry as he brought his greatsword around and sliced off the MT’s head. As it went rolling across the floor to fall out onto the tracks, the rest of the armor came crashing down to collapse at Gladio’s feet.

“Damn,” he grumbled, kicking the pile of metal out of the sleeper carriage’s broken windows. “How many of these are there?”

“Likely enough to keep us busy so that we can’t reach the engine,” Ignis guessed, already pressing past Gladio with his cane tapping frantically to keep up with his pace. Never let it be said that Ignis Scientia wasn’t dedicated. Reckless at times, sure, but definitely dedicated.

Hurrying to catch up and put himself in front, Gladio hefted his greatsword onto his back in preparation for the next bout. “Let’s get a move on, then.”

The train was a mess. Every carriage they passed through on their way to the locomotive had felt the attack in some way—either the windows had been blown out or the seats were covered in debris. There were even a couple that looked about as bad as the freight car they’d escaped, with entire walls missing so that there was nothing standing in the way of falling right out onto the tracks.

It seemed like they’d gotten lucky when it came to casualties, though. That was at least a little comforting. Most of the carriages that had been hit hardest were empty, everyone apparently having run for cover in other parts of the train. The sleeper cars were jam-packed with all the passengers that could be crammed into the bunks with enough room to close the doors; that would hopefully keep them from getting impaled by broken glass and stray MTs. Those who weren’t as lucky had mostly wedged themselves beneath the benches in the other carriages and were praying for the best.

There weren’t any bodies. Not yet.

They just had to keep it that way.

As they sped through each car, growing increasingly uneasy at the sight of the destruction along the way, Gladio and Ignis both shouted for stragglers to get to cover and stay there until the train was back in motion. Most listened, but others were so lost in their panic and shock that they didn’t really seem to register anything. They were the ones slowing them down, possibly even more than the MTs they ran into—it meant pausing for Ignis to calmly tell them where they needed to go and how they were going to survive before they got themselves killed. Gladio wished he could say that it was his demeanor that got their attention, but in reality, it was more the unexpected surprise of seeing a blind guy whose face had been half torn off telling _them_ they needed to cool it. That wasn’t something Ignis needed to know, though, and Gladio would take that secret all the way to his grave if he had it his way.

Delays and explosions notwithstanding, they almost made it to the front of the train when he paused to get a better idea of what they were dealing with. Shipping containers had blocked their view for most of their mad dash to the engine, but now the space had opened up so that he could see the imperial facility they were stopped in front of.

It really was no wonder there were so many MTs: the place was _crawling_ with them. Gladio could almost fool himself into believing that all this was just a coincidence and that maybe the train was simply being attacked because the empire was full of bastards. That theory just didn’t hold water, though, not when he got a good look at what was in the sky.

“Hey, Iggy—looks like we’re about to have company.”

“What do you see?”

“Magitek engines incoming. A _lot_ of ‘em.”

A sigh. “This was a trap all along. They must have known the moment we left Accordo.”

“You don’t think…” Gladio didn’t want to believe it, but at this point, he doubted anything would surprise him.

Ignis, it seemed, had been thinking along the same lines even though he ultimately shook his head in denial. “There were numerous opportunities for the First Secretary to betray us well before we left Altissia. I find it hard to believe that she would do so only after we departed.”

“Unless she thought it would cause more trouble with Lucis to sell us out in her own damn house.”

“Had we arrived a few months ago when King Regis was still on the throne, I would consider it a more likely possibility. As it stands, there _is_ no Lucis anymore, or at least not one she would have need to fear reprisals from.”

That was true, much as Gladio hated admitting it. Still, he didn’t like the idea that they’d been found out by not being careful enough. They hadn’t exactly broadcast who they were, but… Well, that shouting match about kings and rings and Oracles probably didn’t help them out. If the wrong person overheard them, that would explain why the might of Niflheim was so heavily focused on _one_ Tenebrae-bound train.

Shaking his head at his own stupid carelessness, Gladio roughly shoved away from the window and stalked onwards. “Come on, we’d better make tracks. A moving target’s a lot harder to hit.”

 

***

 

How did Prompto always get himself into these messes? First he left Noct, and now this? He was just hoping the train didn’t start moving and throw him off the roof he was currently running along in an attempt to catch up with Ardyn.

Himself.

_Ardyn. Definitely Ardyn._

This was just getting too weird. The whole thing didn’t make sense—not that he expected it to anymore, but it unnerved him that there were _still_ things he hadn’t seen yet after all the crazy stuff that had happened. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at the idea that Ardyn was now wearing his face. If Noct couldn’t tell the difference between them _before_ , what the hell did this mean for what Ardyn could do _now_? Maybe he was just trying to mess with them; it wouldn’t be the first time, after all. Or maybe he was leading Prompto into a trap so that he could get rid of him and take his place.

They’d never fall for that, though…right? Sure, Noct hadn’t really been so observant, but that was to be expected the second he saw Ardyn’s face instead of Prompto’s. The guy _had_ kinda killed his friend-fiancée-thing. And helped piss off Leviathan. …And probably had a hand in bringing down Insomnia.

Yeah, Noct had some serious reasons to hate the dude and not ask questions before trying to kill him.

But this was something totally different. If Ardyn _did_ mean to get rid of him, he’d have to pretend to be Prompto until whatever it was he had planned happened. He’d have to know how to shoot (which Prompto had never seen him do—did the guy even know how to fight?), play _King’s Knight_ (which would be tough when he didn’t have Prompto’s password!), and keep up with the photos documenting their trip (which meant jumping over a pretty high bar, not that he was bragging). There was no way he could pull it off, especially not long-term. If Noct didn’t figure it out, Ignis undoubtedly _would_. It was sorta his job to make sure that Noct saw things clearly, so if anyone was going to be keeping an eye out for threats from within the group, it would be Ignis.

 _What if he’s not fast enough, though? What if Ardyn’s_ just _good enough to fool them until he can do…whatever he wants to do?_

He couldn’t keep dwelling on that. He didn’t even know whether that was what Ardyn was after, although he could think of few other reasons for him to disguise himself so effectively. For now, Prompto had to believe the worst and act accordingly—Gladio had taught him that. If things turned out better, awesome. If not, at least he’d be ready.

Now he just had to keep remembering that as he slipped and slid on the slick metal of the carriage roof. Man, he was lucky these things were built wide. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have fallen right off the side; it was bad enough that there was a raised strip in the middle that he could easily lose his footing on.

Which he did. Many, many times.

Of course, Prompto couldn’t say that Ardyn’s— _his own_ —voice taunting him with each slip-up helped.

It came from behind: “Wow, dude. Way to go.”

When he turned to look, there was no one there.

It came from the side: “He’s beauty, he’s grace, he’s…incapable of walking straight. Nice.”

There was _literally_ nowhere for someone to be watching him from that direction!

It came from ahead: “Why are you even _on_ this journey, anyway? It seems to me that there must have been far more capable companions for His Highness to have chosen.”

That was the one that stung the most. Prompto knew he wasn’t the greatest at…well, anything, really. He wasn’t smart like Ignis; he wasn’t strong like Gladio. Noct was royalty, even if it didn’t always seem that way. As his brain eagerly started laying out the various hang-ups that had plagued him for years, it wasn’t his mind that spoke to him in that insidious, niggling voice for once.

“When the Crystal is retaken and the new king ascends the throne of Lucis, what will happen to you?” it whispered from no particular direction this time. It was almost like it was inside his head, only he knew deep down that it very much wasn’t. “Gladio will be protecting Noctis. Ignis will be at his side, aiding him in ruling the kingdom. He’ll have a council, just like his father before him, and attendants to wait on him hand and foot. What place would you have there? What _right_ would you have to be there?”

_No… Noct’s my friend. I’d do anything for him._

That voice tutted skeptically and, although he knew it was really Ardyn, the words resonated deeply with everything he’d already thought himself. “It won’t be enough. You aren’t trained to be in the Kingsglaive or Crownsguard, and you don’t have the education to be on the council. He’ll be too busy ruling his kingdom to even remember the failed experiment that used to be his friend.”

Prompto’s feet knocked clumsily into each other as he tripped to a halt. “…F-Failed…?”

“That’s right,” his own voice confirmed, the grin almost audible. “Haven’t you ever wondered about that barcode on your wrist?”

“I… I never…”

“Haven’t you ever wondered who the _real_ you is?”

“I _am_ the real me!” he shouted, whirling around in an attempt to find the source of that horrible voice that sounded so much like him—that _was_ him—

“Are you certain of that?”

“Y-Yes…”

Of course he was. There could only be _one_ him…right?

 

***

 

Barging into a locomotive shouldn’t have been easy. On their way past throngs of MTs and survivors alike, Gladio had been working through how they were going to manage it in the back of his head. They didn’t want to waste any time, but it was going to be much harder to get anything done if the engineers thought they were part of the force _attacking_ the train instead of trying to save it. It was a delicate situation, one he thought they’d need to handle with the utmost care.

Boy, had he been wrong.

An engine was supposed to be the most important part of the train. If it broke down, you were stuck; if it went too fast, the rest of the carriages could derail. In Insomnia, the underground railways had a ton of security so that nobody could ever hijack or sabotage one of the lines. The engine was sealed off, and there were guards posted to ensure that no one tried to break in.

Not in the empire, apparently. Gladio and Ignis found their way to the very front of the train unhindered by anyone who would be trying to keep them out. Now, that could have been due to what was happening outside, what with the exploding MTs and swirling blades and all that. Gladio had a hard time believing it, though, especially when he tried the door to find that it slid open easily.

_You have got to be kidding me. Seriously, how the hell did the empire get so powerful when they don’t even know how to lock their doors?_

That was a question for another time, and thankfully, it would be up to someone else to answer it. Gladio’s job was to protect a certain prince— _king_ —and the kingdom he would rule once they got the Crystal back home. It was the empire’s problem to deal with their shitty excuse for public transportation.

Actually, that description didn’t even begin to cover it. Not when Gladio saw the inside of the cab.

If they were stopped in the middle of a warzone, he would have expected to see major damage and someone trying to repair it to get them the hell out of there. Instead, what he found was a pristine engine and a very nervous engineer. Gladio could _feel_ his blood pressure going through the roof as his temper began to simmer beneath the surface.

“The hell’s going on here?” he growled, taking a few steps into the carriage with a tight grip on his greatsword.

The engineer staggered to his feet and raised his hands in what was supposed to be a harmless gesture, but it didn’t fool Gladio. The guy didn’t need to be armed to be dangerous. At least he had the sense to look scared in the face of Gladio’s rage—he couldn’t be _too_ stupid, then.

“S-Sir, I-I’m afraid y-you’ll have to w-wa-wait in your c-carriage,” the engineer stammered. So, he was wrong: the bastard actually _was_ stupid.

For each step Gladio took forward, his target retreated until his back was pressed against the wall of the locomotive. _This_ was a dynamic Gladio could deal with— _this_ was what came easiest to him. When he didn’t have to worry about appearances or coming down too hard on Noct, it made life so much easier.

Plus, it got the job done.

“Like hell we’re waiting out there when you’re sitting in here like there’s nothing wrong,” he countered, stepping right up into the man’s personal space. “Or haven’t you noticed the whole damn train’s under attack?”

The engineer stuttered a few incoherent words, then Gladio felt a gloved hand descend on his shoulder to pointedly tug him backwards. It was all he could do to stifle a sigh of resignation; leave it to Ignis to ruin his fun.

As soon as Gladio reluctantly ceased towering over their cowardly driver, Ignis moved to take his place with a neutral expression that was pretty deceiving if you knew him well. It was easy for Gladio to see that his muscles were bunched beneath his suit, and his fist was clenched harder around his cane than was normal for him. This was an Ignis who wanted to shake the man just as badly as Gladio but knew that it wouldn’t get them anywhere any faster.

“We need to return the train to an operational status immediately,” explained Ignis coolly, using that talent he had for _not_ making an order sound like one.

Swallowing hard, the engineer ground out, “I—There’s no—We can’t just—“

“If there has been any damage to the engine, tell us so that we can assist with making the necessary repairs.”

“Well, I—There really isn’t—“

Tilting his head to the side, Ignis interrupted, “Unless you’re saying there _is_ no problem with the engine, in which case I can hardly see any reason to delay our departure any further given the circumstances.”

Gladio only had enough patience for two more attempts at stammering out an answer and one distant explosion before he finally snapped. It just went to show how irritated Ignis was that he didn’t say a word when Gladio pushed past him, grabbed the engineer by his collar, and hoisted him off his feet.

“You got three seconds to tell me why the hell we ain’t movin’ before you get to go deal with the MTs yourself,” he growled, slamming the engineer up against the wall once for good measure. “One.“

“You don’t un—“

“Two.”

“Please, this isn’t wh—“

“Three.”

“All right!” he practically screamed just as Gladio started dragging his ass towards the door. “The engine is operational!”

“Then why aren’t we moving?” demanded Ignis immediately, pressing their advantage.

“I… I had orders…”

“You had orders to stop the train in the middle of an ambush.” It wasn’t often that you could _tell_ when Ignis was displeased, he was so good at hiding it, but Gladio was positive his disdain would have dripped right off his tone onto the floor beneath them if it were possible. “You had orders to endanger the lives of everyone on board, including yourself.”

Whining low in his throat, the engineer panted past Gladio’s stranglehold, “You d-don’t understand. We can’t operate without authorization—we’d be in deep shit with the empire.”

“Looks like you’re in pretty deep shit with _us_ ,” Gladio reminded him with a rough shake. The man cried out—music to his aggravated ears right now.

“I’m sorry, I—“

“Tell _that_ to the passengers you betrayed today,” Ignis interjected without an ounce of pity.

“Please, I jus—“

Okay, Gladio was getting tired of this. Tightening his grip enough to discourage the engineer from spouting more crap, he brought their faces closer together. “Here’s what you’re _just_ going to do—you’re gonna get back over to that control panel, and you’re gonna get us outta here. Or you get to go hang out with the empire’s finest since you’re such good friends ‘n’ all.”

The engineer’s face turned so white that Gladio was worried for a moment that he’d accidentally choked the guy to death. He met the latter’s emphatic nod with a warning glare, daring him to try anything funny before unceremoniously dropping him to the floor. It was almost entertaining to see the guy scramble back up to his feet and dart towards buttons and levers Gladio had no idea how to operate—he would have laughed if they weren’t in such major trouble.

One glance out the window told him they were running out of time: the magitek dropships were so close that he could make out each blinking light and every bar of metal on the closed entry ramps. The satisfaction he felt when the engine ground into motion and they were advancing once again was nowhere near enough to slow the rapid beating of his heart, not when they were cutting it this close and _still_ didn’t know where Noct and Prompto were in this mess.

_Those two’d better be all right…_

 

***

 

Prompto wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or scared as hell when the train jerked forward and started gathering speed. Despite initially losing his balance, he dropped to his knees to avoid falling until they were moving so fast that the scenery was reduced to a blur of green and brown and blue. Someone must have finally figured out that the MTs weren’t here to join them for lunch.

_About time…_

Every ounce of courage was necessary to get him back on his feet and sprinting along the length of the train, which had been difficult enough to cross over when they _weren’t_ moving. He’d never really been one for praying to the Six or anything, but he was really hoping that all the karma points he’d been racking up lately would help his case as he silently pleaded with them to _not_ let him fall off. Not when he had Ardyn in his sights just a few carriages away and his firearm clutched tightly in his fist.

 _Not now—_ please _not now!_

Ultimately, it was one of those moments that seemed to take forever and no time at all. Everything happened so fast that even when he looked back on it later, Prompto couldn’t be quite sure he wasn’t imagining things. That seemed like the only explanation for how he could have gone from feeling on top of the world to…

How he could have been…

He’d been winning, right? Prompto had chased down Ardyn—who _looked_ like Ardyn again—and the guy was at his mercy as much as any imperial goon could be. They were out of room to run, with nothing more than a sharp drop-off to the hard ground far below. Of course, that probably wasn’t a big deal for someone who could apparently vanish into thin air and reappear somewhere else when you least expected it. Ardyn didn’t do that, though, and Prompto tried not to think too hard about why he’d decided to surrender instead. His hands were up and everything while Prompto kept the barrel of his gun pointed straight at the chancellor’s face. This time, he didn’t have to fight any nervous tremors; he didn’t have to focus so hard on _not_ pulling the trigger. He’d save that for Noct. Well, he’d get some answers and _then_ save it for Noct.

Although his head was clearer than ever now that his own voice wasn’t messing with it, so many questions were swirling around just waiting to be asked. The weird little tattoo he’d always wondered about but never bothered with itched beneath his wristbands, as though it knew it had been mentioned and was clawing its way out to be recognized.

How had Ardyn known about that? It wasn’t like Prompto flashed it around everywhere—or at _all_. The only time he ever saw it himself was when he was taking a shower or something. Other than that, it was always covered up. When he was a kid, he’d assumed it was just some sort of Niff tradition, that maybe children with no parents were given codes like that so the government knew who they were. It wasn’t something he wanted to learn more about, so he’d chosen the simplest explanation and let it go. Some days, he was even able to forget that it was there—not long enough to keep him from contemplating getting a tattoo to cover it up after he saw just how much ink Gladio had, but for a few minutes.

There was no reason for Ardyn to know about it. There was no reason for him to _care_ if Prompto was from Niflheim or Lucis or Accordo or wherever the man-eating moogle monster lived. He had to know that if it came down to his word versus Prompto’s, Noct would never believe the imperial chancellor.

Which would mean lying to him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been lying ever since the day they met, but still. Lies of omission didn’t feel as icky as direct ones. If he had to, though…

_What am I becoming…?_

Ardyn’s words echoed in his mind—his taunts about the _real_ Prompto when there was no possible way he could be anyone but himself. In spite of all the questions that were just begging to be thrown at the chancellor, Prompto couldn’t even speak at first for how difficult it was to decide where to begin. Would it even be worth it when Ardyn was just as likely to lie as tell the truth? Wait a second, that wasn’t right—he’d definitely be _more_ likely to lie. This was _Ardyn_. The guy couldn’t tell a straight story if you literally drew arrows for him to follow.

So, what was the point of asking? He wouldn’t get anywhere. He’d just get more and more confused—

More and more _guilty_ —

No, it wasn’t worth it. But what if…

_It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Noct wouldn’t care one way or another, and neither should I!_

Or would he? If he _did_ believe Ardyn, if Prompto _did_ come clean, who was to say it wouldn’t go down exactly like it had earlier with Noct’s sword at his throat?

This was insane—why couldn’t he just _think_!?

Then there were the explosions that rattled his brain as much as the train—man, what the hell was going on up there!?

Where were Ignis and Gladio?

Where was Noct?

Why did he have to face this uncertainty alone!?

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he forced himself to accept. _It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter._

There was another explosion, so much closer this time, and then the familiar sound of a warp drew his attention. It was stupid, really. Now wasn’t the time to take his eyes off the guy who had been gunning for them ever since they met him in Galdin. He should have known Ardyn would try something the moment he was distracted—in the back of his mind, he _did_. Prompto thought for a second that that was why Noct was drawing his sword again the moment he landed on top of the train, having just taken down all those imperial ships from the looks of things.

Then Prompto caught the look in his eye, and there was no time to think—no time to react—no time to remind himself that it _didn’t matter_ —

Because it wasn’t Ardyn he needed to worry about. It wasn’t Ardyn that Noct was aiming for.

And as Prompto fell from the train, an involuntary cry of utter betrayal tearing itself from his throat, all he could wonder…was _why_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: This was how I sort of figured things may have gone given the fact that Prompto said he wanted to hear Noct tell him he was the "real" Prompto. Adding to it the stuff we saw in the DLC trailer from yesterday, I figured it should fit. I was super wary of posting this when Episode Prompto is being released in a week, but as this doesn't really touch on the content that we'll be seeing in the DLC, I took the risk. Please forgive me if it turns out that I've messed something up--I may come back to this and make a slight alteration if that turns out to be the case. If I do make any changes, I'll leave a note on the next chapter and my Tumblr.
> 
> Speaking of, come follow me at theasset6.tumblr.com! It's FFXV and story updates galore!


	5. Solidarity

Gladio knew something bad had happened the second Ignis’s phone announced that Noct was calling. A suddenly stiffened set of shoulders told him he was in good company, too.

“What’s wrong?” Ignis inquired as soon as he picked up the call. It was a testament to just how panicked Noct was that Gladio could hear his side of the conversation from where he was standing a few feet away; even Ignis had to pull the phone back from his ear to avoid going deaf as well as blind.

“Ignis, you’ve gotta stop this thing!”

Any other day, Gladio would have snorted at the idea. After all the trouble they’d gone to just to get the train moving again, there was no way in hell they were stopping until they reached Tenebrae. Noct’s hoarse distress, however, chilled Gladio to the bone and wiped away any traces of amusement.

And that was nothing compared to his next words.

“Prompto fell off the train. I pushed him—I mean, Ardyn made me. I don’t know where he is, but we can’t leave him!”

So, the chancellor _had_ been behind this mess, after all. He’d thought as much. There wasn’t enough anger in Gladio’s system to bring the heat back to his core, though, not with the knowledge that they were down one member of their team. While he had to take a few deep breaths to keep a cool head, his arms folded tightly over his chest as though he could physically hold in all the thoughts and feelings that went spiraling through him, Ignis appeared to take everything in stride.

“Stay calm, Noct,” he ordered almost harshly, attempting to break through the haze of panic that had apparently descended upon their prince and was licking at the edges of Gladio’s consciousness. A part of him wanted nothing more than to turn this bucket of bolts around, but Ignis took the words right out of his mouth when he continued, “I’m as concerned for Prompto as you are, but stopping the train would endanger everyone on board. We’d be sitting ducks for the daemons.”

That didn’t placate Noct a damn bit, and it ate at Gladio’s resolve to hear him sounding so much like the kid he used to be as he begged Ignis for guidance. “What do we do!?”

“First, we drop the passengers off at Tenebrae. We’ll be arriving shortly.”

“What about Prompto!?”

“Given the chancellor’s involvement, it’s probable he’s no longer where we left him. In any case, he may try to contact us. Let us wait and hope for now.”

It definitely pained Ignis to have to tell Noct that they were going to leave his best friend behind, and Gladio reached out to squeeze his shoulder in silent solidarity. They couldn’t stop, not even for Prompto, and there weren’t enough rational reasons in the world to make that any easier. Ignis seemed to appreciate the support and pressed on before Noct could interrupt. “Can you make your way here? Gladio is with me.”

“Are the…two of you okay, at least?”

_Dammit, Noct…_

Drawing in a deep breath, Ignis’s voice softened as he reassured him, “Yes.”

“Okay, on my way.” There was a beat of silence, and then a surprised groan echoed over the speaker. Gladio’s fingers were already itching to pull his greatsword out of their invisible armory without Noct having to say, “I’ll be there as soon as I take care of these stowaways!”

The line disconnected before either of them could ask what he meant, but Gladio thought it was pretty damn obvious when he turned towards the window and saw the semi-darkness of the tunnel around them. The fact that they’d left the relative safety of the sunlight behind unnerved him, especially when he shoved aside the engineer to glare out at their surroundings.

In Lucis, tunnels were hit or miss when it came to trouble. The first few weeks of their journey hadn’t been so bad, with the obvious exception of the imperial blockades standing in their way; tunnels were even preferable to hanging out in the open where the magitek engines could spot them. The closer they got to leaving for Altissia, however, the more that changed. With shorter days came more daemons prowling in the shadows, even when it was light outside. As much as Prompto had hated it, Gladio put his foot down on taking chocobos everywhere after they were ambushed in the tunnel near Caem in broad daylight. There was no reason to put themselves in danger, he’d said, not when they had a perfectly good car with daemon-repelling headlights that would keep them safe.

The train didn’t have those, and this tunnel was a hell of a lot darker than any of the ones they’d traversed in Lucis. The white lights spread at intervals on either side did little to illuminate the bulk of the space; the only thing Gladio could see clearly were the multitudes of snaga daemons hanging along the walls, just waiting to hop onto the moving train.

“Damn…”

“What is it?” asked Ignis, the frustration evident in his voice. Gladio winced with a twinge of guilt—in the heat of the moment, he occasionally forgot that Ignis needed a few more details spelled out for him these days.

“We’re in a tunnel, and we’ve got a ton of company out there.”

Humming, Ignis frowned as he slowly recalled, “If I am remembering correctly, the map showed that the passage outside of Tenebrae was not terribly long. We should be through it shortly.”

“Yeah…about that…”

Gladio squinted into the darkness, even going so far as to lean over the console for a better look in the hopes that there was just a glare on the glass keeping him from seeing clearly. It didn’t seem like he was going to be that lucky, though, and he bowed his head with a sigh.

There was no light ahead. If Noct was up on the roof the way it sounded, the only help he’d get was with his own two hands.

They’d already lost Prompto—Gladio couldn’t let anything happen to Noct as well.

“I’m going up there,” he grunted, already halfway to the door with his greatsword appearing in his hand. He probably shouldn’t have felt as savagely satisfied as he did when the engineer paled at the size of his weapon, but hey, he was allowed to be in a bad mood right now.

And it looked like that mood was only going to intensify when Ignis’s hand latched onto his sleeve to stop him.

“We should remain here,” Ignis pointed out, his tone bordering on _commanding_ instead of _suggesting_.

Gladio had to grit his teeth to avoid doing more than just snapping, “The hell, Iggy!? Noct’s out there alone with the daemons.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Then let me go.”

Ignis didn’t obey. If anything, his grip tightened. “We need to stay together.”

“You’re saying we should leave him.”

“I’m _saying_ that now more than ever, it is imperative that neither of us becomes separated from the others,” he countered immediately, his lips turning down in a look of distaste at the implications of his own words. “Whatever Ardyn was planning, he clearly wanted Noct on his own. We cannot allow him to remove us from his side the way he did with Prompto.”

Gladio blinked once—twice—then deadpanned, “So we stick with him by _not_ sticking with him.”

It looked for a second like Ignis desperately wanted to hit him and was restraining himself only through the employment of godlike levels of patience. A part of Gladio was viciously glad to see it, to see _anything_ on Ignis’s face besides composed resignation. Yeah, it was the advisor’s job to keep a level head and make sure that they continued on their path without fail. Gladio got that—but this was _Noct_. The last time they’d left him alone, he’d almost gotten killed by a giant snake goddess in need of a serious attitude adjustment. Gladio wasn’t willing to make the same mistake twice, whatever the cost. He’d been uneasy enough entrusting the prince’s safety to Prompto, and it looked like he’d had good reason.

Right now, Gladio wanted— _needed_ —to be at Noct’s side. What good was a Shield anywhere else?

When he tried to peer beneath the surface, Gladio could tell that a war was being waged within Ignis’s head. The guy had been with Noct since they were little kids, well before Gladio started his training or even met the prince he would be tasked with protecting for the rest of their lives. It couldn’t be easy for him to say the things he did, but there was still a resolve in his stance that indicated he hadn’t changed his mind no matter how much he might want to.

Gladio decided he simply wouldn’t listen anymore, not when he could already have found Noct by now, but Ignis chose that moment to say the one thing he knew he couldn’t argue with—the one thing he’d already told himself earlier that day.

“He can’t lose anyone else, Gladio.”

 _That_ froze him in place just as he was about to wrench his arm out of Ignis’s grasp. Sensing an opening, the latter took advantage of Gladio’s stunned silence to continue with an exhausted sort of regret.

“He knows where we are and that we are together. Noct has grown strong these last few months. He can handle whatever is waiting out there, but we _must_ remain together for his sake. He’ll need us both now, to find the Crystal and Prompto as well. If Ardyn managed to trick him into hurting Prompto somehow, there is no telling whether he is still waiting on the train to do it again once one of us is alone. We cannot afford to take any chances.”

He…hadn’t thought of that. Don’t get him wrong—Gladio would have _loved_ to come across Ardyn right about then. It would be the perfect opportunity to vent some of his frustration, maybe take the chancellor’s head off once he told them where Prompto was. But whatever he’d done to Noct, it had sent the prince reeling; that much was obvious just over the phone. His charge knew what he was doing, though, and he _could_ take out some daemons even if the idea of him being up there on his own was less than ideal.

Yes, Noct was strong, but Gladio had serious reservations that he was strong enough to withstand losing either Ignis or himself. Not after Prompto. After Lady Lunafreya. After his father.

Too much. It would be too much.

So, he stood down, and his greatsword vanished in a flash of light that appeared significantly less defeated than Gladio felt at the moment. Ignis opened his mouth, most likely to reassure him with some bullshit that neither of them was about to believe, when his voice died in his throat and his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Do you hear that?”

_I’m getting real tired of him saying that._

“Hear what?” grumbled Gladio, wishing he hadn’t asked as soon as the words left his mouth. He didn’t think he could handle any more surprises today.

Ignis was already moving in the opposite direction, tripping his way to the console as if he could actually see whatever it was he thought he heard. It was out of pure spite that Gladio was going to keep his distance when, of course, _he_ started hearing things too—loud, crashing things. He barely had the time to dart forward, grab Ignis’s arm (plus the engineer by the back of his collar because he was too damn nice), and jerk them all away from the window before a pack of enormous daemons dropped onto the front of the engine.

They were the spider ones. God, he hated those things.

That wasn’t the worst part this time, though. Not by a long shot—because they’d finally exited the tunnel and emerged back into the gathering twilight, but _nothing changed_. The sun was still high enough that there was no _way_ so many daemons should still have been able to tolerate it much less keep attacking the train. It didn’t seem to have any effect on them, though; they moved just as fast and strong now as they did underground.

_The hell is goin’ on!?_

The engineer fumbled around in a panic, believing for some reason that daemons would be scared away by some stupid horn, and Gladio was helpless to stop him as he began to notice something else—as if there _needed_ to be more coming at them right now. Seconds later, however, he felt his breath hitching when he realized exactly what it was he was looking at: particles of crystalline light began to flake through the air outside, seemingly invisible to the daemons but all too clear to him. He knew those shards—they’d seen them how many times, now? It always heralded…

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

“He’s summoning,” Ignis murmured beside him. Gladio didn’t bother asking how it was he knew.

He was far too impressed with the sight of that giant sea snake that had caused them so much grief outside the train, swimming through the air as though it had suddenly turned into water. Which…apparently, it _had_. As Leviathan dipped beneath the level of the tracks, waterspouts erupted into the air like massive pillars, spawning huge balls of moisture that hovered for a moment before flying straight at the train. Gladio couldn’t be sure if it was from the sheer amount of water in the air or if the heavens really had opened up above them, but a downpour drenched the outside of the windows until he could hardly see through the gale from this side. It was only by sheer luck that he realized what was going to happen half a second in advance, and he threw himself over top of Ignis to shield him as the glass shattered, raining down on them.

Grunting, Gladio ignored the way the sharp little shards nicked his forearms and kept his head down until he heard the rain begin to taper off and a distant roar indicate the Hydraean’s retreat. Even then, he waited a moment with his hand on Ignis’s shoulder to warn him away from rising too soon; the windows were blown out, which meant there was nothing standing between them and the daemons now if they wanted to get inside.

A few seconds passed that could have been hours for all Gladio knew, yet the only sound to be heard was that of the wind as it whipped through the open locomotive. When he raised his head, Ignis doing the same beneath him, it was to find that the cabin was a wreck: the equipment was drenched, and glass glittered on every surface in the light of the setting sun—but there were no daemons. The arachnes were gone, the snagas had vanished—

And Tenebrae was burning.

 

***

 

As it turned out, they didn’t meet up with Noct at the engine the way they’d planned. Hell, _he_ wasn’t even the one who found _them_.

Within minutes of Leviathan leaving them to clean up the mess she’d helped to make, the engineer issued a strained announcement to the rest of the train that they were pulling into the station at Tenebrae. It was obvious that everyone was more than ready to get off the remains of this deathtrap, because Gladio and Ignis couldn’t even reach the doors with how many people were rushing to get off. Waiting for the path to clear had Gladio bristling, wanting to shove a few of them out of the way like he would have if they were back in Lucis. At home, everyone had known the king and the prince—even more importantly, they knew Gladio and his father. When you saw one of the two Shields, you moved your ass out of the way to make room. It appeared that these people hadn’t gotten that memo. At the start of their trip, Gladio would have been happy to hear it; their anonymity was the key to their safety. Now that all that had gone up in flames? Yeah, he would have loved to push past them, damn the consequences.

Disembarking was quicker once the train slowed to a complete stop and the doors slid open. People were practically falling all over themselves just to get to solid ground, and more than one relieved face looked torn between running for the hills and kissing the flagstones. Gladio grimaced at the sight—civilians could be such wusses.

It took him no time at all to find Noct in this mess, which he admittedly hadn’t expected. A paranoid voice in his head had started rambling on about what might have happened to the prince when Leviathan attacked, whether he’d been knocked off the top of the train, if he was floating face-down in the water hundreds of feet below the bridge… With his best effort, he shoved that part of him aside and focused on the facts: Noct had summoned the Hydraean. Whether she was happy about it or not, she’d given him her blessing and therefore couldn’t hurt him. (Well, much.) So, he couldn’t be dead—at least not yet.

Nope, instead he was dripping a puddle onto the steps leading away from the station, his head cradled in his hands. It was a tableau reminiscent of when he’d gotten those migraines from Titan—god, that felt like _ages_ ago now—and Gladio grabbed Ignis’s arm to make a beeline for him before anything _else_ went wrong.

Noct didn’t look up, clearly not noticing their approach, and Gladio took the opportunity to scan him for injuries. From the looks of things, he was in one piece; soaked clothes and misery aside, there were no obvious broken bones or bleeding abrasions. His charge knew better than to let himself suffer from his wounds at a time like this, though, especially when they were still doing fine on curatives.

…Which they’d left in the sleeper car.

_Fantastic._

Making a mental note to grab those and the rest of their belongings before they left for Gralea, Gladio stopped Ignis at the foot of the steps and lowered himself to one knee in front of Noctis. It took another second for him to realize he wasn’t alone—Gladio could forgive him for that just this once, considering what they’d dealt with today. When he raised his eyes to his Shield’s, however, the despair swimming in their depths tore at the latter’s stomach.

A few weeks ago—no, scratch that. A few _days_ ago, Gladio would have told him to pull it together and get a grip. Sitting here moping about Prompto wasn’t going to help them find him; whining about what he’d done wrong wouldn’t fix the fact that he’d done it to begin with. Those weren’t the words he wanted to say now, not after his conversation with Ignis. All three of them.

There was something he hadn’t realized until not too long ago, a side of his duty that he’d never stepped up to fulfill. Shields didn’t just protect against bodily injury, after all. Sure, that was their primary function; if you asked any soldier, they’d tell you that. Still, there was a certain reassurance that came with strapping a shield to your side before you stepped into battle back in the days when they used that kind of thing more often. When you walked into war with a shield held in front of you, you knew that you were safe to a certain extent. You were confident that whatever came your way, there was a good chance that it would have to work a hell of a lot harder to kill you. There was a barrier there, a wordless, soundless shield that would take the brunt of the attack. Having that guarantee was what kept men from going mad, even if only the most frayed bit of thread was the difference between functioning and sinking into the void.

That was what he had to be, and he hadn’t realized it until this godforsaken road trip of theirs. Noct, for all that Gladio still worried about him, could take care of himself when it came to the physical battles. He knew how to fight, knew how to defend himself, and—probably most important—knew how to get the hell out of a place if he came up against something he couldn’t beat.

But Noct, like Gladio, was terrible with emotional shit. Gladio wasn’t afraid to admit that. From the time he was a little kid, it had been hammered into his head that his job, his entire _existence_ , was centered around his charge. There wasn’t room for error or lapses in judgment—the kind of stuff that usually happened when you let your feelings get in the way of things.

Noctis wasn’t the same. Hell, why would a spoiled little prince ever need to hide what he was feeling? That didn’t change the fact that he did so more often than he would actually tell you what was going on in that thick head of his. If it weren’t for the three of them, Gladio had to wonder if Noct would have drowned in his own mind by now.

Maybe they weren’t so different there.

It wasn’t easy for a moogle to change its pom-pom on command, though, and Gladio felt an obstruction in his throat that refused to subside for him to give his charge the reassurance he needed to keep going. Luckily, Ignis didn’t require his vision to know what to do; he had a sixth sense for that sort of thing.

“Noct,” he began in his softest cadence, awkwardly moving to sit on the step beside their prince. It took every ounce of control for Gladio to let him figure it out on his own, which he did after a little longer than Ignis probably would have liked. “What happened?”

Noct mumbled something neither of them could make out, not even Ignis with his increasingly supersonic hearing, and turned his gaze back towards Gladio’s shoes.

“What was that?”

One trembling breath and a few failed attempts at speaking later, Noct finally managed to whisper, “He looked like Ardyn.”

Frowning, Gladio quietly clarified, “You mean Prompto?”

Noct nodded once, still refusing to make eye contact. Ignis appeared to sense it and lowered a hand gently onto the prince’s shoulder as he suggested, “Perhaps it would be best if you started from the point where we left you.”

Easier said than done. Drawing information out of Noctis was like grappling with a behemoth over a chocobo carcass: inadvisable and a goddamn pain in the ass. Gladio’s newfound sense of understanding was tested every time the prince ducked his head in shame as though he couldn’t answer; more than once, he was tempted shake his charge and remind the latter that they couldn’t very well act unless they had all the details. However, just when he thought he was going to slip back into the habit of exploding out of sheer frustration, he took a deep breath to calm his nerves and forced himself to listen to what little Noct was willing to divulge. They’d get it out of him—it might take all night, but they would.

Ignis, because he was _Ignis_ , sat patiently and absorbed everything with a slight crease between his eyebrows. Gladio had known him long enough that he could practically see the way his mind was grinding down all the information, committing every word Noct said to memory so that he could peruse it at will later. Not once did Noct’s reluctance seem to faze him, and Gladio had to be a little jealous of that. Unlike him, Ignis could wait for their prince to find his words; unlike him, Ignis knew the right way to lay his hand on Noct’s back or interject to comfort him.

Gladio didn’t even know where to _begin_. For him, comfort came from action. Comfort came from knowing what had happened, acknowledging the consequences, and doing something to fix it.

Comfort wasn’t sitting around swapping stories so slowly that the Glacian’s corpse was moving faster.

By the time Noct finished, he looked so exhausted that Gladio was beginning to wonder whether hurrying on their way was even worth it. He knew the answer to that: they didn’t have time to delay, especially not when they had no idea where Prompto was or what kind of shit he was going through. Still, a prince who couldn’t be quick on his feet was of no use in a battle. He’d be more likely to get himself hurt than anything else, and then where would they be?

They didn’t bother burdening him with the tale of their own escapades on the train, nor did he ask. There wasn’t really a whole lot to tell, after all. They’d gotten no new information on the longer nights, they hadn’t run into Ardyn, and they sure as hell didn’t have any intel on how they were going to get the Crystal and Prompto out of Gralea (because it wasn’t as if they were likely to be anywhere else). Telling Noct about their own experiences would do nothing more than add weight to his shoulders that he really didn’t need to carry. That, after all, was their job.

And it wasn’t the only one. Not even close.

As silence fell between them, Gladio knew what he had to do. It couldn’t be Ignis—it _had_ to be him.

So, he leaned a forearm on his knee and reached his other hand out to rest on Noct’s shoulder. Somewhere in the back of his head where he stored the things he didn’t want to think about too often, he could see himself in a similar position years ago when he took an oath to honor, serve, and protect for all the days of his life. There was no way of telling whether the prince could feel the same sense of nostalgia that surged up in his Shield’s chest, but Noct finally met his gaze head on. That was something.

Once Gladio knew he had his charge’s full attention, he held it as tight as he could. Noct didn’t try to look away this time, not even when Ignis stood and stepped back to give them some space. It was like staring into the eyes of someone who was drowning and desperate, and Gladio soon realized he was squeezing Noct’s shoulder so hard that it had to hurt.

“We’ll find him,” he swore. Shield to prince—friend to friend—brother to brother—he promised, “No matter what, we’ll get ‘im back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, the end of another story. A couple of notes on this one:
> 
> 1\. Something that struck me about Gladio's character at this point in the game is that he is very different when we reunite in Chapter Twelve. He's quieter, grieving for Prompto just like the others, and is even more gentle with Noct moving forward. At the beginning of his side of Chapter Thirteen, even though he's confident in Noct's ability, there's a lot of concern for him there as well. That was something I felt needed to be outlined a little more thoroughly in this part, where it appears that his change of heart has been more pronounced.  
> 2\. The phone conversation and description of Leviathan's summoning come from the game. The conversation between Ignis, Noctis, and Gladio occurs right before Aranea arrives. (Poor Noct needed some time to dry off and explain what happened.)  
> 3\. I know that Noct is very verbal about Prompto later when he confronts Ardyn, but it struck me at this point that he would still be very confused and emotional about what had just happened. After all, he didn't get any time to process as he was immediately knocked out and then had to deal with the daemons. In Tenebrae, he's fairly quiet until he has to go back to his duty, so this was that time that I figured he would need, hence it taking him some time to vocalize with Ignis and Gladio. 
> 
> Okay, so... Part ten is the end, guys. I will tell you that it's a three-chapter piece and my final entirely canon-compliant fic in this series. I've had a prompt or two for other canon-compliant stories, and while they will comply with what I've written in this series since I've tried to be as true to canon as possible, they'll dovetail a bit without being part of the series itself. After that, I've got enough AUs planned to sink a ship, so I really hope you've enjoyed these stories so far and will be sticking with me moving forward!
> 
> Part ten. We can do this. Until then, walk tall, my friends. ;)


End file.
